The Missionary Zeal

Whatever you say against the atheists, you must admit that they do not hound you in every possible space and time with a missionary zeal to covert you or save you.

True, from Bertrand Russell to Richard Dawkins, atheists have tried to defend their case in numerous books and debates (which I think is a waste of their talent as atheism should come naturally to every adult with average intellect and basic education); but at least you can choose not to read or listen to them. Atheists do not ring your doorbell uninvited on Sunday mornings and attempts to make you a member of their club in spite of your clear lack of interest in it.

But the believers do not give you any option.

I realised this once more yesterday morning near the Karlberg tunnelbana station. I was on my way to Bus no. 72 through morning rush when I saw a couple of ladies distributing some Swedish leaflets, which I thought to be the adverts of some new hair cutting salon or fashion boutique or upcoming restaurants, i.e., the usual staff. As I went past them they asked me to take one. I smiled and politely said this will be of no use as I do not know Swedish. They seemed to be profoundly apologetic at this and said unfortunately they do not have anything in English. I thought that’s that.

But a few minutes later, as I was waiting at the bus stop, one of them came running with a leaflet in her hand; “here is an English one” she said panting. As I started mumbling something like  “oh, you shouldn’t have to do this..”, my eyes fell on the English heading; True Path to Heaven.

For God’s sake, not again! Shouted my inner self where my outer self still managed to retain at least 15% of my charming smile (it is so difficult to actually shout back when the opposition is divinely polite and smiling).

I had been regularly hounded in London by people with a bible and few copies of printed material in hand and a divine desire to save me. And somehow it never goes into their peanut sized, thoroughly washed brain that I am not actually interested in being saved. So they came again and again, with an iron determination to spoil my Sunday mornings, my evening walks, my shopping trips. The problem is I am generally a polite person and cannot say “**** off” to a very polite and smiling person just because they are galactically stupid. I accepted them as just another London nuisance like weekend engineering works in tubes and absurd speed humps on roads.

But I thought myself to be safe now , so far north up here in Stockholm. I presumed that the people in Scandinavia are in general not so frightfully devout. Besides, the whole country was buried under meters of snow till recently. And I thought the Gods in this region are Thor and Odin, who may throw a  hammer at you if displeased, but at least do not let loose a battalion of preachers, blabbering complete gibberish, on poor unsuspecting souls like me.

But clearly I was wrong; the true missionary zeal of saving some soul from the burning hell and helping them to secure a birth in heaven knows no geographical boundary. It might have been a little dormant in -25 degrees, but has sprouted again along with the crocus as soon as the spring came.