Today was the penultimate day of school, and several hours ago I was walking home with a heavy bag and a stack of books under the crook of my arm. My thoughts wandered to the errands of the afternoon: returning books, paying fines, getting ready for tonight’s promotional ceremonies—when suddenly, in between Balboa and Cabrillo, I was stopped by a voice: “Excuse me, sir.”
I did the natural response, which was to turn around and listen to what this man, who was apparently working on his car outside, had to say. “Excuse me, but you dropped something.” “Excuse me, what time is it?” were among the sundry phrases I expected, but what he actually said, “Excuse me, you know that this is all superstition, right? That there is no God?” of course surprised me.
Being quite taken aback, I did not know how to respond for several seconds. The man looked quite older than me—perhaps past 50—and his time-worn appearance and the authoritative tone in which he said “You know that this is all superstition, right?” made him look like quite the confident American. My first internal response was that of surprise, not merely because of the “question” but because I did not have any obvious external indication of my faith. In my stack of books there was a very slim and unnoticeable work on repentance; the only other indication would have been a CD-R copy of the Service to St. Necktarios [sic] that I was holding with my index finger.
Whatever the case, I wasn’t in the mood for an argument, and my interlocutor’s demeanor did not show any curiosity or willingness to be persuaded on his part.
So, I went with my instincts: I crossed myself and said to him, “God bless you.” As I was walking away, the man shouted to me, “Which God? Zeus? There are thousands of gods…” I turned and made the sign of the cross upon him and the man with him, saying, “May the Lord bless you and keep you.” Perhaps that was a bit overkill, but it seemed a good idea at the time. The man continued on his atheistical spiel while I went on my way.
Perhaps if I was more interested in rational argument or even more bellicose in character, I would have thrown my books down and engaged in a no-holds-barred syllogistic battle with the infidel. Perhaps if had a more irenic and mystical character, I would have posed a paradoxical word to the man to awaken him from his dogmatic slumber. But somehow I would doubt that any sort of rational or mystical posturing would have convinced him. I am reminded of the Athonite Elder who, when he was confronted by an unbeliever to produce some kind of proof of the Orthodox Faith, simply said “No” and walked away. I guess I did the same thing, sort of.
