Angel on Flight 837

The day started off the same way most of my Monday’s do; I woke early, packed my bags, packed my work material, drove to the airport, checked in, got through security and plopped myself in line at the gate along with all the other zombies. I had to be in a business meeting just shortly after landing in Spokane, so time was going to be short. My plan was to take the closest open seat available on the plane, jump out ahead of the pack, sprint to the rental car counter and blaze onto the open road.

I was stuck with a ‘C’ boarding pass, which if you’ve ever flown Southwest Airlines you know the ‘C’ stands for “Crunched between two people.” Almost assured to be a sardine for two hours I entered the craft quite skeptical of getting a decent seat. As I peeked around the corner I was pleasantly surprised to see an empty aisle seat in the third row. I asked the middle-aged woman sitting next to it if the seat was open. She replied that it was, but she warned me she had brought along her small terrier which occupied the floor by her feet. I’m not opposed to dogs, but I saw an empty aisle seat only three more rows back and decided I could use a little more peace and quiet.

I approached the empty seat and saw a small boy, maybe ten years old, at the window and a larger woman sitting in the middle. I asked if the seat was open. The heavy woman replied, “If you don’t mind sitting next to someone who is gravely afraid of flying, it is.” I smiled and sat down next to her.

As the plane climbed to its cruising altitude, I could see the difficulty the woman was having with the turbulence. I asked if she was flying to Spokane for business or pleasure.
“Home,” she said with a sincere smile. “I am finally going home.”As we chatted I discovered she had gone to California to see her older daughter. What was supposed to be a two week stay had turned into a month-long nightmare. The young boy next to her was her grandchild. He was flying back with her to see the rest of the family.

The conversation was pleasant. She talked about her work, I told her about mine. Then I began to notice as the conversation drew on she was finishing what seemed to be every sentence with “God willing”, “Praise Jesus” and “In Jesus’name.” I wasn’t turned off by this, but do you know how hard it is to casually work these into every sentence? At that moment I remembered I had placed my Portable Atheist book by Christopher Hitchens into the pocket just in front of me. I had been talking with this woman for so long I had forgotten I put it there. Of course I started to panic. Not a full-fledged panic, but a mild ‘I hope she doesn’t ask me if I believe in Jesus’ sort of panic. I didn’t want to ruffle any feathers, especially one who seemed to care quite deeply about her faith and one who was already in a fragile state.

“I prayed this morning that an angel would protect me and my grandson during the flight,” she told me quite nonchalantly. “I had the whole church praying to keep this plane in the air today. I thought maybe an angel would just help keep the plane on course, but God sent one to sit next to us.”

I couldn’t see myself blush, but I felt it. I usually do when I get complimented. I didn’t thank her, but rather insisted she had helped me pass the time too. We had both benefited from our casual banter.

“So, do you believe in Jesus?” she asked. My heart dropped into my lap. There it was; the ultimate question. I wasn’t surprised she asked, just taken off guard that it was so straightforward. Truth-be-told, I am not one to lie about my point of view and an honest question always deserves an honest answer I was once told. So I looked the woman in her sincere brown eyes and replied, “No mam, I don’t.” From outside the window, one would have thought an elephant had spontaneously appeared in the aisle, but the awkwardness of the situation was more than that. It was like I gave the round woman her birthday cake then smeared shit all over the top of it. Her shock was only momentary, then a drizzle of mild disgust took over. “Really?” she asked. “And why not?”

I never thought about formulating a thirty-second ‘elevator pitch’ about why I am an atheist. It’s always been a bit more complicated than that. But I said the first thing that came to mind. “I guess my mind doesn’t require a god to be happy,” I replied. Even as I said the words, it felt too simple an explanation. But after weeks of reflection and self-critiquing, I find it to be extremely accurate.

I couldn’t tell if she was insulted or just caught off guard. She glanced over at her grandson, who I had noticed was intently listening, but was now pretending not to be. She turned back to me and asked, “You know the stories in the Bible are true, right?”

As an atheist who typically knows more about the bible than those religious folk who preach to me, I could only smile. Not out of arrogance, but out of pity. This was the equivalent of the baby bouncy pitch in kick ball; predictable and easy to hit out of the park. I knew that this was going to open up a more confrontational discussion, but what the hell; we still had thirty minutes before we got to Washington.

“Which stories are you referring to?” I asked. “All of them,” she quipped. “You mean the ones like Sampson and Jonah?” She was already "all-in" on her faith, no need to wait for her response. I continued, “So a man possessed super human strength due to the length of his hair?”

The woman thought for a moment, then almost whispering her reply she said, “Yes.” I then asked about Jonah and the GREAT FISH (never call it a whale-they hate that) to which she confirmed was also literally true. I brought up other stories as well, Israel wrestling with God, how Adam and Eve had two boys and somehow married women who were not of their lineage, etc. The grandson seemed to be getting a kick out of the back and forth, almost like I was saying things he could only dream of saying himself.

In the end, I told the nice woman that I was still young and who knows, someday evidence may be discovered that favors her Christian God; swaying my world view to a more Christian perspective. But until then, my conversion will have to wait. She replied in kind words that I truly helped her relax during the flight and that meeting me was a ‘special event’. Again blushing, I thanked her.

We landed safely in Spokane and as the rows of business travelers and weary parents exited the plane, the woman had one last thing to tell me. “You are too nice to be an atheist. I think you are closer to being a Christian than you think.”
And there it was. She effectively dipped (what was in her mind) a compliment right into the gooey pot of bigotry and hatred and delivered it like a pro. And ‘this is where the problem lies’ I remember thinking. Right here, with this woman. She is the embodiment of all that is wrong with religion. It removes a person’s sensitivity to others, like a circumcision of the mind. I have lived long enough to know the woman meant well, but the censors in her brain did not allow her to hear or comprehend exactly what she was saying. I was “too nice to be an atheist”? What are atheists typically like? Are they killers, hoodlums, rabble-rousers, criminals of every sort? It is clear that an atheist is someone not to be trusted or at least considered to be far from civil or well-mannered.

Although I was happy to help someone forget their fears for a couple of hours, I came away with new fears of my own. Fear that a person’s affiliation to a religion will always outweigh their personality and good works. Fear that ignorance is more rampant among the faithful than I ever imagined. And fear for that little boy by the window; that someday he will meet a stranger who is too nice to be anything but a Christian and thus continuing the cycle.

Ignorance breeds fear; fear breeds hatred; and hatred breeds religions. A never-ending cycle that must be broken. I hope that little boy breaks out of the mold.