[13] I've had it with Born-Again Christians

I do mean born-again Christians, and not the normal, sane, bona fide Christians like my mother and father, who go to church on Sunday and live a good, decent, everyday existence, without feeling the need to relate every movement, every thought, every word and every event surrounding them, to the will of God.

When I lived in the United States, I was accosted daily by born-again Christians, either personally or on television or in the newspapers. The local rag reported the incredible story of a young man called Wayne, who was 21 years old. Wayne was riding his motorbike along a quiet street in Olympia, Washington. He somehow managed to crash into a parked car and was thrown more than 30 feet into the air, and certain death. That is until a line of telephone cables came to his rescue. Wayne found himself entangled in the cables and dangling more than 20 feet above the concrete road which would otherwise have cracked open his skull and spread his brains all over the sidewalk.

Wayne managed to hold on until help arrived, in the form of the local fire tender, and a visit to the hospital revealed only minor cuts and bruises. A very lucky man indeed and, I have to admit, a great story and worthy of any local newspaper. According to Wayne though, it wasn’t down to luck. No siree.

“What are the odds of those wires catching me and saving me?” he asked the intrepid reporter and anyone else who cared to listen. “I mean it must be ten billion to one.”

Ok Wayne, math probability is not your strong point, but let’s put it down to shock. I read on.

“God put those wires there to save me,” he gushed. “It was the Lord God who saved my life by putting those wires there. Praise the Lord."



I’m sorry Wayne, but it was the telephone company who put the wires there. A long time ago too. You see Wayne, they are necessary in today’s modern, technological age. The telephone company employees put those wires there so that people could pick up the phone and call 911 when they see someone dangling perilously from the telephone cables after being thrown through the air upon crashing his motorbike into a parked car. Now even if God just happened to have nothing else to concern Him at the precise moment when you were careering along the road on your mechanical death-trap, wouldn’t it have been easier for Him, or at least one of His angels, to give you a slight nudge, just to, well, to avoid the Goddam collision?

Ok, I know. This is only one example of one man’s words following a near-death situation, and we all know how these things play with your head.

A few months later, a born-again Christian named Harry something or other, won $135,000,000 (that’s one hundred and thirty-five million US dollars) on the Texas State Lottery. Nothing wrong with that in itself. A born-again Christian has as much right as you and I to win the lottery, even if the amount is somewhat grotesque in a world which still houses so many starving children. And therein lies the crux of the matter. As the lucky man spoke in front of a posse of TV cameras, he proclaimed to the world, “God wanted me to win this money. It was the Lord who gave me the winning numbers, and I thank Him from the bottom of my heart.”

I immediately conjured up an image of God sitting in heaven with a band of Angels.

“Listen up,” says God. “You know that poker game I had with Mister Maverick the other night? I got lucky. I’ve got a hundred and thirty-five million bucks to give away. Any suggestions?”

“Yes Lord,” says one Angel. “There is an African nation heading for a major famine. That sort of money would save the lives of ten million men, women and children.”

“Forget that,” says God. “My mate Harry down in Texas could do with a lift. I’ll give it all to him.”

Let me be clear about one thing. I have no problem with people praying and thanking God when they do get lucky. That’s cool. My beef is with people like Wayne and Harry, who think they are so important in the grand scheme of things that God, if He is up there, has nothing more worthwhile to do than to put up telephone wires and put six random numbers into someone’s head, when there are small matters like famine, drought, disease, war and genocide to be getting to grips with.

In fact, this sort of egotistical self-delusion is not restricted to born-again Christians. It’s enshrined in human nature. How many times have you heard someone say, “I knew as soon as I started washing the car yesterday, it would start to rain. I can guarantee as soon as I start washing the car, it rains.”

Forget that the local church group is holding a garden party nearby, or that the Mayor’s daughter is getting married in the open-air in front of 200 invited guests. Roger is washing his car, so let’s burst a few clouds over Smallsville.

“As soon as I have finished hanging this washing out, It’ll start to rain. Happens every time.”

We’ve all said similar things. It’s human nature. It’s ego. It’s harmless. Until you become a born-again Christian and start letting it rule your life, and start believing that you have a direct line to God Almighty, who will drop everything and come running at your every whim.

Another thing. All the born-again Christians I met in the US of A were also reformed alcoholics, and fully paid-up members of Alcoholics Anonymous, that well-known Christian organisation. Some of them were no more alcoholics than George W Bush, and he is the President. Ok, maybe that was a bad example, but you get my drift? I saw one man getting drunk on Christmas day on nothing but cold beer. I had never seen him drunk before, but I discovered some time later that on that very day, on the strength of a once in a blue moon booze binge, he was recruited by a couple of born-again Christians and before he had recovered from his hangover, was standing in front of complete strangers and saying, “My name is Bob and I’m an alcoholic.”

Praise the Lord and pass me another Budweiser.

I’ve had it with born-again Christians.

Amen.