Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.
—John 8:32
We should note this curious mark of our own age: the only absolute allowed is the absolute insistence that there is no absolute.
—Francis Schaeffer
The hot summer weather woke me early on Christmas day. Stretching my arms, I paused to look out from my balcony at the harbor before getting ready for Christmas lunch. Even though getting through the day’s festivities would likely be a chore, I felt optimistic. Memories of Samuel, and my second year of university, were now behind me.
Gatherings were a big affair on both sides of my family, but always more raucous on my father’s Greek side. Inevitably, the topic of religion would come up. We were, after all, an anglicized family with none of the Greek customs but all of the stereotypical traits, including passionate debate over politics, philosophy, and religion.
I arrived slightly late and was ushered to the long dining table to find a place among the platters of turkey, prawns, and smoked salmon. My short Greek grandfather and my grandmother were also still chatting with others near a Christmas tree covered in tinsel. They wrapped up their conversation to take their seats. To my dismay, the only spot left at the table was across from my Christian relatives.
I felt a pang of dread. Aunt Helen and Uncle Brendan had minded me from a young age with my parents at work, but I resented their family because of their strongly held Christian faith. I hadn’t been to their place in years.
I still vividly remembered my phone conversation with Aunt Helen when she said, “I want to explain why homosexuality isn’t a God-ordained lifestyle choice for you, David. I accept you and love you as a person and a family member, but I have to tell you what’s true.”
Her words felt like a dagger. They were ignorant of the fact that being gay is not a lifestyle choice but an important aspect of who someone is. I had exploded back with a fury that shocked me afterward. “You mad bigot! People like you are responsible for the suicide of thousands of gay youth!”
Years later I came to understand that like many Christians, my aunt had used the wrong words to communicate both her stance and her concern for me. My uncle Brendan also deeply cared for gay people. But in my mind, he and Helen were still bigots. Anyone who disagreed with me or had a different vision of marriage was automatically a bigot. No qualification needed.
But on this Christmas day, I took my seat, trying to rise above their hatred. I’ll just ignore them, I thought.
As we ate, I talked with my cousin next to me. Suddenly I overheard Uncle Brendan mention God and something about truth. Truth was a dangerous word. Through my university lectures, I had adopted the key doctrine of the postmodern worldview: there are no absolutes. Such “truths” are just ways to control other people.
“Are you kidding me? There’s no absolute truth and certainly no God,” I proclaimed, breaking up the conversation around me. All my relatives stared at me, and the whole room went silent. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aunt Helen recoil at my assertion.
“I’ve studied postmodern philosophy. I can tell you there is no absolute truth,” I told my uncle. “You can’t even communicate truth with language, so please don’t try to talk to me about God. It’s ridiculous, a delusion. You can’t have an exclusive claim to know God. I have many atheist, Hindu, and Muslim friends. Do you really think they’re all going to hell because they don’t know your Jesus?”
“David, there are a few issues with what you are saying,” Brendan said, cutting through my exasperation.
“Like what?” I asked irascibly.
“You say, ‘There is no absolute truth’ as if it is an absolute truth, and you also used language to communicate that. You just doubly contradicted yourself,” he said.
He glanced at my aunt. “For me and your aunt, the truth is a Person we know, not just a concept in our heads. He’s someone we have a real relationship with.” He turned back to me. “Just because our understanding of him isn’t always perfect doesn’t change that he’s the absolute truth. It’s his perfect grace, not ‘perfect’ knowledge of God, that saves us, David.”
I pushed my plate away. “But what about all the evil the church has done to LGBTQI people? Do you really think I’d believe you after all of that?” I shook my head. “I can’t believe ‘God’ would create us this way and then punish us for it. And what about all of the other religions? You haven’t answered me. Do you really think half of humanity is destined to hell because they haven’t heard of Jesus?” I stood up to leave.
My aunt and uncle also left soon afterward. Years later I learned that on the way home, they talked about my response.
“When David was talking, I saw the Holy Spirit over him. He’s going to be saved and baptized with the Spirit in three months’ time,” Brendan told my aunt confidently.
Aunt Helen stared at him, incredulous. “Are you sure? Didn’t you see his reaction?”
He nodded. My uncle wasn’t one to push things like prophecy. He was reserved about making extraordinary claims, and yet this time he was adamant.
God’s grace was reaching out to me in my deepest anger. He had started through my uncle’s apologetic witness.
And Brendan was right. One hundred percent.
I had only three months of atheism left.