Guinness, Guys, and God

Today, I had a truly Scottish university afternoon. Let me elaborate. I had told my colourful friend Xander to meet me at the Art Bar for a pint or two -hence two- after class today. At the bar our numbers grew to six aspiring historians, English majors, and philosophers. After a deep sip of beer under the coffee and creme colored foam, I joined in the stories, exaggerations, philosophizing, and dreams. We talked of Mississippi blues and Smoky Mountain Tennessee. We talked of the trials and tribulations involved in cruise ships, lifeguarding, and gardening. We had a good rehashing of several movies ranging from Half Baked to Alien. We bemoaned grades and praised university life. As the afternoon waned, the thoughts turned to parents then Catholic schools, and then God and Christianity. The conversation was thoughtful, careful even. Stumbling blocks to my friends were not just social norms. Creationism and authorship were a puzzle of an equation that did not balance to some of the guys. The self-described atheists were not confrontational. Instead, there was a wistful glumness about the conclusions. Perhaps for the first time, I learned what it means to not have hope. There was no triumphal pride, just a grim acknowledgement of reason. Xander and I did our best to give the reason for the hope we had; however, we made a mistake. We could not win the unresolved conflicting questions, because faith is not valid proof to someone outside yourself. We should have just said, "You know it is just about Jesus."

Until another day.