{"id":1656,"date":"2023-11-11T16:59:21","date_gmt":"2023-11-11T21:59:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pensivejournal.com\/?p=1656"},"modified":"2023-11-11T17:07:32","modified_gmt":"2023-11-11T22:07:32","slug":"bad-atheist","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/pensivejournal.com\/prose\/bad-atheist\/","title":{"rendered":"Bad Atheist"},"content":{"rendered":"

It\u2019s December 1971, and after a two-hour sailing from Scotland, you dock at Larne, about twenty miles north of Belfast. As you walk down the gangplank, you\u2019re stopped by soldiers who tell you not to move. They point their automatic rifles at you, and the good buzz you\u2019ve been feeling flies away. They examine you closely like they know you\u2019ve done something wrong, then wave you through.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

What the fuck?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You walk as fast as you can, barely noticing that it\u2019s raining until you leave the dock area behind and walk past terraced houses and closed shops. And rubble. It looks like a war\u2019s going on, and you\u2019re so fucking ignorant you don\u2019t know that a war <\/span>is<\/span><\/i> going on.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You walk north along the coast for an hour and check in at a B&B in Ballygalley. You ask the woman about the soldiers, and she tells you about the Troubles, and you\u2019re confused. Everyone\u2019s got troubles.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s horrible and it\u2019s become more violent,\u201d she says. \u201cYou must be careful not to do anything to make them want to shoot you because they will shoot you.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cWho will shoot me?\u201d you ask.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe Brits, of course, the soldiers. Be careful.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

She must think you\u2019re just another stupid American because you don\u2019t know that the Catholics and Protestants have been fighting for years, decades, centuries actually. You don\u2019t understand why religion makes people kill each other. You remember when you were a kid you got spanked for going to a Cub Scout meeting in the basement of a Lutheran Church. \u201cDon\u2019t you dare go into a Protestant church again,\u201d your aunt said. No Cub Scouts for you. Maybe that\u2019s why you never learned to tie a decent knot and why you\u2019ve never been prepared for anything.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The next morning is all sea breeze and sunny skies, but you wish your thirty-pound backpack were lighter as you walk twenty miles along the Antrim Coast and stop at a B&B in Waterfoot. A day later you walk to Ballycastle where you encounter the Giant\u2019s Causeway. You climb over huge stone columns that rose out of the earth eons ago. At the youth hostel you read a flier that says that the forty thousand basalt pillars are the result of volcanoes. You prefer to believe a different story, the one the hostel manager tells you.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAn Irish giant named MacCool challenged a Scottish giant named Benandonner to a fight. MacCool built the causeway across the sea so he could go to war. But when he saw that Benandonner was a lot bigger than he was, he ran back here and got his wife to dress him up like a baby. She sewed a giant diaper made from the sails of a ship and put it on him. When Benandonner came over and saw how big MacCool\u2019s baby was, he figured his father must be a gianter giant than he was. As Benandonner fled back to Scotland, he tore the Causeway apart so MacCool couldn\u2019t follow him.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

When you return to the hostel that night, it\u2019s been colonized by a school group from Londonderry. They\u2019re like ants in the kitchen, everywhere and in the way. Your food is where you left it in a cubby, but your Swiss Army Knife is gone. Fuck! One of the little bastards stole it. You don\u2019t know if the kids are Catholic or Protestant. You imagine your knife turning up in the back of a soldier, and you regret leaving it out.<\/span><\/p>\n

Time to head to Limerick to find out about the poem, so the next morning you walk for a bit, then stick out your thumb and get picked up by a trucker who makes deliveries along the coast. You look out at the water, which you learn is not called the Welsh Sea on this side, nor the English Sea nor the Scottish Sea. It\u2019s still the Irish Sea. You\u2019re about to say Ireland sure is beautiful until you remember what happened when you said England is beautiful in Wales, and the driver stopped the car and told you to get out saying, \u201cThis is Wales, not bloody England.\u201d You keep your mouth shut until this driver asks, \u201cSo where might you be from?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNew York.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He stops the truck and looks at you. \u201cYou mean in America?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, my goodness. I can\u2019t believe it. My cousin Tommy Lynch lives in Chicago. Do you know him?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You want to laugh. He probably knows everyone between Belfast and Londonderry and thinks you know everyone between New York and Chicago.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo, sorry, I don\u2019t know him.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

After giving you half his sandwich and pledging his lifelong friendship, the trucker lets you off at an intersection where he says you can get another ride through Londonderry then into the Republic of Ireland. And you get another ride with two guys in a three-wheeled milk truck. You hadn\u2019t seen these strange vehicles in Britain proper, but they\u2019re all over Northern Ireland. You throw your backpack on the flatbed next to empty milk crates and get in the cramped cab. They ask where you\u2019re going, and you say Donegal. They say they\u2019ll take you through Londonderry\u2014they call it Derry\u2014to the Irish border, and from there you\u2019ll have a straight run to Donegal on the other coast. Their thick accents\u2026brogues\u2026are difficult to understand, but you can see they\u2019re angry. What you finally get is that that morning there was a protest in the Bogside, a Catholic neighborhood where two of their friends were shot.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFookin\u2019 Brits just drove up and ordered everybody on the ground. Our mates refused to get on their knees and the fookin\u2019 bastards shot them with their fookin\u2019 rubber bullets. They hurt, man. They can kill you.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You\u2019re horrified. You know nothing about this war that you didn\u2019t know was a war until a few days earlier. It makes no sense. In a few weeks soldiers will shoot and kill fourteen innocent Catholics in the Bogside in a massacre that will be known as Bloody Sunday.<\/span><\/p>\n

The driver proceeds through checkpoints manned by armed soldiers. These barriers are made of concrete, wood and barbed wire arranged as a maze. And there are speed bumps. The posted speed limit is 5 mph so the soldiers can get a look at who\u2019s in the vehicle. Your driver slows, opens his window, spits at the soldiers and curses \u201cGo home, you fookin\u2019 murderers!\u201d The soldiers have automatic rifles. He has empty milk crates. You think he\u2019s nuts.<\/span><\/p>\n

He enters a maze, turns right, turns left, turns right again. You pass through three or four of these when the driver says, \u201cOne more and we\u2019ll drive you to the border.\u201d He slows down to crawl through the \u201cone more\u201d when some kids across the street start throwing rocks at the soldiers.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

As the soldiers lift their rifles, the driver curses \u201cO fook!\u201d He steps on the gas and speeds through the maze. You hear the milk crates slide from one side of the flatbed to the other and know your backpack is sliding with them. Then the abrupt turn and everything slides the other way.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You hear shots fired.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cO fook! O fook!\u201d all three of you say at once, as you crouch as low as you can in the cab, your forehead pressing against the dashboard. On the way down you notice the speedometer racing toward fifteen mph. That\u2019s nuts, you think. This maze is tricky at five miles an hour. Impossible at fifteen. You don\u2019t know if the soldiers are using real bullets or rubber bullets. More shots. You don\u2019t know if the soldiers are shooting at the kids or shooting at you. You\u2019re surprised the truck doesn\u2019t roll over at this speed. You\u2019re surprised you\u2019re not dead.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The truck breaks out of the maze and races away. Several minutes down the road the driver stops and yells, \u201cGet out!\u201d He points and tells you to run that way and you\u2019ll be in the Republic of Ireland. You get out and almost forget to take your backpack, which, holy fookin\u2019 shit! is still there. You grab it. You can barely breathe. The truck roars away. You haul your ass in the direction he pointed.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You don\u2019t see a border sign, so you don\u2019t know if you\u2019ve crossed into the Republic or not. Eventually you stop running to catch your breath and make sure you\u2019re alive and unshot, and damn! You look at the sky and raise your fist and scream. And scream. You shouldn\u2019t be shot at in a war that has nothing to do with you, a war you didn\u2019t even know is going on. You don\u2019t even live here. How fucking stupid! Killing each other over a God that doesn\u2019t exist. While you know nothing about it, you can at least understand the Muslims and the Jews killing each other because they believe in different gods. But Catholics and Protestants, they believe in the same guy. They\u2019re on the same team. Obviously, you know nothing about the Reformation and the centuries of hatred between Catholics and Protestants. Then you have an idea, an original idea:\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Why are we killing each other because of our religions? Why can\u2019t we see that we\u2019re all human beings? We\u2019re all basically the same.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

In the history of the whole fucking world, no one has ever thought this until you fucking thought it in the Republic of fucking Ireland in December of fucking 1971. You\u2019re fucking brilliant!\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You hitch a ride to Donegal, check into a B&B, and sit in a pub till closing, trying to drown your original idea and your miserable brilliance. Hours later, despite several shots of Irish whiskey and several pints of Guinness, you lie shaking in bed all night.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

In the morning you begin a two-day trek south toward Limerick. You walk and hitchhike, walk and hitchhike and arrive in Galway, where you check into the youth hostel and despite your earlier, decision to not drink so much, you spend another night in a pub getting drunk.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

In the morning, you walk and hitchhike, walk and hitchhike toward Limerick, each ride taking you just a \u201cwee bit down the road.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You notice something strange. In England, Wales and Scotland the cows ignored you, but when you walk past the farms in Ireland, they come up to the fence mooing at you as if you\u2019re a taxi and they\u2019re looking for a ride. These Irish cows are friendlier than the English ones, you think. You mention this to one of the drivers who gives you a lift.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, that\u2019s a riot,\u201d he says. \u201cNo, they\u2019re not lookin\u2019 for friends, the cows. They\u2019re lookin\u2019 for someone to milk them, \u2018cause those farmers are drunk from the night before and are sleeping in.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You know nothing about cows or farmers, but you do know about getting drunk and how hard it is to get up in the morning to go to work.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Along one of these small roads you see a billboard split in the middle with two advertisements. On the left \u201cGod is our refuge and strength,\u201d which is from one of the psalms you recited when you were a kid. And on the right \u201cDouble Diamond, the best beer in the bar.\u201d Even you can see that religion and alcohol are the biggest problems in Ireland. Then, Huh! you realize that religion and alcohol are probably your biggest problems too.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

There\u2019s just one other person staying at the youth hostel in Limerick, and after five and a half minutes you become best friends. Callum asks what you\u2019re doing, and you tell him that you want to find out where the limerick comes from.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe what?\u201d he asks.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe limerick,\u201d you say. He has no idea what you\u2019re talking about.<\/span><\/p>\n

Callum is a sidewalk artist from Dublin. He goes from city to city sketching nativity scenes on the pavements outside churches in the weeks before Christmas. Of course, he has a box for donations. The next morning you walk with him to St. Augustine\u2019s Church. He\u2019s down on his hands and knees, moving stubs of chalk across the pavement. Figures appear: Baby Jesus in a manger, Mary, Joseph, sheep, a cat. You wonder what he does when it rains.<\/span><\/p>\n

Then you look closely, and notice things are not what they appear to be. The tree in the background is actually a rocket ship. The halo around the babe in the manger is a space helmet.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Like you, Callum\u2019s an atheist. When someone puts a coin in his box and says something nice, Callum tells them to fuck off!<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI despise the old fakers,\u201d he says. \u201cThey flock into the church to make deals with God and then walk back out to screw their neighbors.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You tell Callum about the shooting incident in Derry, and he agrees the world would be better without religion. You describe the billboard you saw, one half a psalm the other half an ad for beer. \u201cI\u2019d love to fuckin\u2019 see that,\u201d he says.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIf only they can get rid of the God part,\u201d you say, \u201cand keep the beer part, this might be a decent country.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he says, \u201cit\u2019s too late for Ireland. We\u2019re fucked!\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You go off to find the building you\u2019re looking for. On the ground floor is a library, the floor above it a museum, each tended by a little old lady. You try the museum first. \u201cI want to find out about the history of the limerick.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, you\u2019ve come to the right place. We have artifacts and documents going back to the city\u2019s founding.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo, not the city,\u201d you say. \u201cThe poem.\u201d<\/span>
\n<\/span>\u201cWhat poem?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe limerick poem. You know, it goes like \u201cThere once was a man from Nantucket\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNantucket? What\u2019s that?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, but that\u2019s not the point. I\u2019m talking about the poem. The limerick poem.\u201d The woman looks confused.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy don\u2019t you ask at the library downstairs. I\u2019m sure they have poems there.\u201d You realize she\u2019s never heard of the limerick.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You try the library with the same result. The woman asks if you can recite one. You search your brain for one you can say to this little old woman who reminds you of Aunt Dud, but the only ones you can think of are dirty.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, I can\u2019t think of any.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

How is it that people in Limerick never heard of the limerick? The only reason you came to this fucking country was because you thought you\u2019d look into the limerick. You\u2019ve wasted your time and almost got killed in the process.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You walk around the city. It reeks of ancient decay. Everything is rundown, dark, ugly and grim. You sit on the side of the River Shannon feeling sorry for yourself. You stare at the water and notice a twig stuck near the bank. As the water rushes around it, it shakes, but it doesn\u2019t come loose. You surprise yourself by wondering which is worse, to stupidly hang on as the water passes you by, or to be moved by the river, which will shove you out to sea. You wonder if you are being pushed by a river? Or are you hanging on to something you hope will save you? The only thing you\u2019ve ever clung to is poetry. You guess you\u2019re more of a keep moving, let the river push you along guy. You toss a rock at the stick to knock it loose, but you miss.<\/span><\/p>\n

The air is full of smoke from the coal fires that heat the houses. It\u2019s a pleasant smell. You stare at the river and after a while, a long while, you realize that it\u2019s beautiful in a gray, ashy kind of way. You look at the sky, which is also gray\u2026and you are overcome. A great and brutal weight seems to lift from your shoulders, and you feel something replace it. Something with wings. As you look out at the River Shannon you remember what Wordsworth wrote as he looked out at the River Wye:<\/span><\/p>\n

In which the burthen of the mystery,<\/span><\/p>\n

In which the heavy and the weary weight<\/span><\/p>\n

Of all this unintelligible world,<\/span><\/p>\n

Is lightened:<\/span><\/p>\n

You don\u2019t know the word \u201cawesome,\u201d but that\u2019s what you\u2019re experiencing. Awe in its purest state: powerful, sublime, beautiful\u2026and terrifying. You need to change your life. You take out your notebook and write:<\/span><\/p>\n

here\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

holy spirit<\/span><\/p>\n

there\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

holy spirit<\/span><\/p>\n

holy spirit<\/span><\/p>\n

holy spirit\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

river<\/span><\/p>\n

holy spirit<\/span><\/p>\n

sea gulls<\/span><\/p>\n

holy spirit<\/span><\/p>\n

gray sky\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

coal smoke\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

holy spirit<\/span><\/p>\n

holy spirit<\/span><\/p>\n

rocks\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

cars\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

dogs<\/span><\/p>\n

holy spirit\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

holy spirit<\/span><\/p>\n

holy spirit\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You\u2019ve written a poem about the holy spirit. What kind of atheist are you?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You go back to the church to find Callum, but before you can tell him about your poem he says, \u201cI met these people, and when they said they liked my drawing I told them to fuck off! like I usually do, but instead of cursing me or walking away, they said, \u2018Sorry, man. We didn\u2019t mean to hassle you.\u2019 And I said, \u2018Why are you so nice?\u2019 and they said, \u2018We\u2019re members of\u2026\u2019 I didn\u2019t get that part, \u2018a new religion, and there are fifty of us.\u2019 I don\u2019t know if they mean fifty in Limerick or in Ireland or in the whole world? Then the girl gives me this card and says I should come to their meeting tomorrow and check it out.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He shows you the card. On one side is a quotation written with fancy colorful letters neither of you can read. It has a name after it, like who wrote it. On the other side is a neatly printed address.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cIf it\u2019s a religion,\u201d you say, \u201cthey\u2019ll probably just start another war.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Callum agrees, \u201cYou\u2019re right about that, but there\u2019re only fifty. Maybe we can talk \u2018em out of it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

You think about that and say, \u201cAnd if we can\u2019t, maybe they\u2019ll give us a cup of tea.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

So it\u2019s decided. You\u2019ll stay in Limerick another day and go to this meeting with Callum and try to talk these people out of their religion so they don\u2019t start another war. And if it doesn\u2019t work, maybe they\u2019ll give you a cup of tea. Who knows, maybe they\u2019ll offer you a biscuit too.<\/span><\/p>\n

When you show Callum your poem about the holy spirit he says, \u201cIt\u2019s astonishing. I know exactly what you mean. There\u2019s something profound about Limerick.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You\u2019re having second thoughts when you and Callum arrive at the address the next day. You think about the nuns that beat you, about Father Smith who \u201cwrestled\u201d you and about the priests at St. Bonaventure who lied to you. What has religion ever done but hurt you? Why are you going out of your way so these people can call you a sinner and tell you you\u2019re going to hell?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Callum knocks and a girl around your age opens the door. He holds out the card and says, \u201cI met these people yesterday. They gave me this card and invited me to come here today.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWelcome,\u201d the girl says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIs it okay,\u201d he says, \u201cI\u2019ve brought a friend?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLovely, come in.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The living room is crowded with young people sitting on chairs and on the floor. Someone is playing a guitar. And they\u2019re singing. You don\u2019t know the song. They seem happy. They\u2019re grooving. You figure they must be high, but you don\u2019t smell weed. Then, strange, you see three white haired women sitting on folding chairs on the other side of the room, and they\u2019re grooving too. No way the old ladies would be getting high. There\u2019s something else going on here.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The girl who answered the door says, \u201cFind a place to sit.\u201d You and Callum look around. He heads for a spot on the floor near a fireplace. You find a space in the middle of the room next to the guy playing the guitar. He nods at you as you sit down.<\/span><\/p>\n

He stops playing and says, \u201cWelcome. My name is Jack.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

You tell him your name and say, \u201cYou play pretty good.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m in a band with my mates. They\u2019re here too.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo,\u201d you ask. \u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He says, \u201cWe believe in world unity. We\u2019re all equal.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

You couldn\u2019t have heard him right. \u201cThat\u2019s my idea,\u201d you say. \u201cWe\u2019re all human. I thought of it last week.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOur religion has been teaching it for more than a hundred years.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s it called?\u201d you ask. He tells you. You never heard of it.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe word \u201creligion\u201d means to unite,\u201d he says. \u201cSo, if two people are arguing about religion, we believe they\u2019re both wrong.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cReligion doesn\u2019t bring people together,\u201d you say. \u201cIt breaks them apart. They\u2019re killing each other not far from here. I got caught in a shooting thing in Derry.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d he asks, and you tell him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s scary,\u201d he says, \u201cbut I live in Ireland. You don\u2019t have to tell me. My parents won\u2019t speak to me because my girlfriend\u2019s family is Protestant.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWow. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He starts strumming his guitar again.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat else do you guys believe?\u201d you ask, but before he can answer one of the old ladies stands up and says, \u201cWelcome. Thank you all for coming to our home.\u201d Strange, she has an American accent, not Irish. \u201cWhy don\u2019t we start with some prayers.\u201d And with that everyone is quiet.<\/span><\/p>\n

You look around. Most have their eyes closed. You\u2019re not going to close your eyes. You look across the room at Callum. He looks at you.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

A girl says a prayer about removing problems, and you wonder if their god is going to remove you, suck you up with a giant vacuum cleaner into the sky. You hope not, at least until you get a cup of tea.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

A guy with a red beard sitting near Callum reads a prayer. You\u2019re hardly listening when you hear a beautiful phrase about dazzling stars. You love the sound of that and start to pay attention. There\u2019s a brief pause between prayers, sometimes a bit longer before the next one begins. You realize no one seems to be in charge. Where are their priests?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The woman stands up again begins to speak. Is she the priest? She doesn\u2019t look like a priest. Besides, she\u2019s a woman. You\u2019ve never heard a woman talk about religion except for the nuns. And you don\u2019t think she\u2019s a nun.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIn the past,\u201d she says, \u201cpeople were illiterate and needed teachers to tell them what was in their holy books, first rabbis, then priests and ministers. The world today\u2026you can fly anywhere in a matter of hours. And because people are educated, we don\u2019t need a clergy to tell us what\u2019s in the holy books.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

If they don\u2019t need a clergy, you\u2019re guessing, she\u2019s not a priest. And if they don\u2019t have priests, who does the stuff? You glance at Callum. He\u2019s watching her, paying attention.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cEach of us is responsible for our own spiritual development. It\u2019s not good enough to sit back and be part of a congregation. We have to act. We have to improve mankind, to advance civilization. To create peace. One way to do that is to eliminate all forms of prejudice.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

You\u2019re good with that.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOne way to do that is to have a common language that everyone will speak in addition to the one they grow up with. This way we can communicate with each other while preserving our different cultures, many of which are dying out.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The woman continues, \u201cThis way we can talk to one another and maybe not have so many wars. Though I must admit, you Irish speak the same language I do, but a lot of the time, with your brogues, I don\u2019t understand what you\u2019re saying.\u201d Everyone laughs, even you. You don\u2019t think you\u2019ve ever laughed about anything to do with religion.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

She talks for a few more minutes, thanks everyone for listening and sits down.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You ask Jack about the stuff you\u2019re not supposed to do? He tells you that they don\u2019t drink or do drugs, and they are prohibited from having sex outside of marriage. You knew it was too good to be true. It\u2019s the same crap you grew up with. Religion telling you what to do. You haven\u2019t had sex since you left New York in September. But wait till you\u2019re married? That\u2019s impossible. God never believed in you, so why should you believe in God? And not drinking? Even Catholics drink.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack introduces you to the three women. \u201cWelcome to our home,\u201d one says. Another offers you a cup of tea. You look at these people who appear to be happy, and you wonder if you could be happy too. You remember what you and Callum said yesterday that maybe you can talk them out of it. But you\u2019re not sure that you want to talk them out of it. You\u2019d like to believe that this religion can stop wars and have everyone speak the same language. You\u2019d like to believe that they\u2019ll change the world. You\u2019ll never become one of them, but they seem to have a few things worked out. You hope that maybe, even though you don\u2019t believe in God, that this is true.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAre you a Seeker?\u201d one of the women asks.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You\u2019ve never thought of yourself that way, but it makes sense. You\u2019ve been seeking your whole life. \u201cI guess,\u201d you say.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I hope you find what you\u2019re looking for. And if we can help, let us know.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

There is so much you like about these people and their religion. They don\u2019t push. They really seem to practice what they preach. If only they believed in drinking instead of God, you could see yourself\u2026.No. No way. You need a drink. Religion isn\u2019t for you. But this religion is different from what you grew up with. It has a heart.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDo you have something I can read?\u201d you ask.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The woman who gave the talk looks at her friends, then looks back at you and says, \u201cNo, sorry.\u201d They must not be trying too hard to get people to join if they\u2019re not passing out pamphlets like the Moonies and the Hare Krishnas.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI can get you a book from Dublin,\u201d Jack says, \u201cbut it\u2019ll take a few days.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

You were only planning to be in Limerick for one day, which has extended now to two, but, what the heck. You decide to hang around and wait for the book.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d you say.<\/span><\/p>\n

You and Callum go back to the house the next night and the night after and you feel good. You feel whole, and you haven\u2019t felt whole since\u2026you can\u2019t remember.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You decide to make believe you can live like they do. You won\u2019t have sex. Ha. As if the girls were lining up. And you\u2019ll try to not drink. You made it three weeks in high school, so you\u2019re pretty sure you can make it a few days in Limerick. You decide not to curse around these people, but you\u2019re not going to say their prayers. You ask questions and try to understand the answers, but you know you\u2019re missing a lot. There\u2019s always music. Jack and his bandmates are there every night and add a song or two.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

When the book arrives, you ask Jack how much you owe him, but he says no, it\u2019s a gift. He writes in it \u201cTo \u2026 with best wishes from Jack.\u201d You know that this book is special. You double wrap it in plastic and bury it deep in your backpack to keep it safe and dry.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

After saying goodbye to Callum and Jack and your other new friends, you leave Limerick and hitchhike to Dublin where you drink your first drink in a week. You feel good and bad at the same time. You like them, their sincerity, their belief that as they can change their own lives, they can change the world. Too bad they believe in God. Too bad they don\u2019t drink. Best not to think about this anymore. You take the ferry to Holyhead, and you\u2019re back in Wales.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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