Witnessing Bad Behavior

MY MOTHER, whose religious beliefs I never ascertained, often used the phrase "the good lord", which probably signified something, if not her exact religion. I sometimes felt tempted to ask her what she considered "good" about a supreme omnipotent being who permitted creatures of its own creation to incessantly suffer, but better judgment prevailed, and I held my tongue. Curiosity kills cats, discretion trumps valor, and so forth. Mother neither approved of nor permitted anyone to alter or attempt to influence her religious beliefs, whatever they might have been. Southern Baptists and Jehovah's Witnesses alike were doubtless taken aback a bit when she opened the front door and announced: "I'm a Catholic, and I'll pray for you at mass." I have a different approach. I engage. First, I notify my visitors that I am already quite familiar with their religious beliefs, at least in a general sense. After all, I've lived my entire life immersed a culture saturated by the Christian faith, surrounded by Christians. Many of my best friends and closest associates are Christians. I've read the Bible, twice. Having established that, I press on. I remind my evangelical visitors that I am a person of advanced age, have had an entire lifetime to determine my religious beliefs, and have not failed to do so. I further assure them that I am reasonably intelligent, and reasonably well educated, and fully capable of forming my beliefs without the benefit of unsolicited assistance. They never respond to that, choosing to stare blankly at me, or examine their shoes. By this time they are comfortably ensconced in my living room, sipping coffee, tea, or sugar free Gatorade, their choice. Keep friends close, enemies closer. I frankly consider it an insult, I contend, that anyone would think himself qualified to assist in any improvement of my religiosity, and that I have no desire to receive such assistance, without issuing an invitation to do so. Why, I wonder out loud, does anyone have the audacity to assume that his or her chosen faith is suitable for, or better for, anyone else? Shouldn't we all find our own spiritual path, in our own way? By now they are becoming disenchanted, shifting in their seats on my couch. So, I lower the boom. Since I am already conversant with their beliefs, would they like to know mine? Do I get a chance to reciprocate? Maybe I can give them assistance, as they generously offer to afford me. Oddly, they always accede, probably motivated by a sort of morbid curiosity about the unsaved heathen into whose den of iniquity they have had the misfortune to enter. I make it quick, and merciful. I mention Thomas Jefferson and Einstein, my religious role models. I briefly talk about deism, and pantheism. I assure them of my belief in God, or, as Einstein put it: "the infinitely superior spirit, the old eternal genius who built the world". I conclude with a quote from Goethe: "When I realized that everyone invents his own religion, I decided to invent mine." Knowing when to cash in my chips, I stop talking, and offer them refills. Bleary eyed, eager to escape, they politely look at the door, then walk towards it, claiming time limits. Though they are full of coffee, never even ask to use my restroom. My mother, who art in heaven, is proud of me, I hope.