To my right along the peace picket line that was sweltering this morning, a grey-haired man with a guitar was talking to a white-haired woman who was clearly a pretty good friend. And I caught a snippet of conversation:
He: How can he say he does not believe in God. Saying you don't believe in God is like a fish saying it does not believe in water.
She: Nods with an appreciative smile.
It was a cozy little exchange -- friendly, agreeable.
But later, after the man with the guitar had moved on to an appointment and as I was about to head home for lunch, I couldn't stop myself from commenting to the white-haired woman: "You might tell your friend to consider: A fish that does not believe in water is precisely the same as a fish that DOES believe in water."
Belief -- so inviting, so convincing, so agreeable. And yet what is it that belief and disbelief accomplish beyond all doubt? Belief and disbelief separate one thing from the next. From the get-go, separation is the DNA of belief/disbelief.
And is separation the sort of peace that is A. True or B. Most healing?
I know, I know ... it's not something to point out ... it's too contrary to what anyone might just know to be true.
One day I'll learn to hold my tongue.