The Big Read: Saving grace of the believers

The man, strumming a battered guitar and wailing a song about Jesus Christ, was being glared at.

This was a march against the corruption of the South African government, not a religious gathering. Indeed, many of those milling about outside parliament were ardent secularists, horrified by any hint of closeness between state and church.

But the man persisted, becoming defiant as the crowd frowned at him. He stopped singing and began to preach.

There was only one ruler of this planet, he cried out, so why were we wasting our time with mortal princes? Didn't we understand that it was futile hoping for redemption through a better president if we hadn't accepted God as our only true ruler?

Some people shuffled away from him, anxious about his mental state, but the rest didn't try to hide their annoyance. Belief is a private matter. It was wrong of him to impose his on others.

A few years ago I would have been one of the people giving him a cautious glare. But these days, I'm not so sure.

To be clear, I am still a non-believer. None of the new gods from the Middle East appeal to me. If my Gaelic or Celtic ancestors had been slightly better at killing, or had carved more things in stone instead of wood, their gods might have survived into the present day, and I might have been able to find one or two to get behind.

But they all fell to deities with better PR and so I remain godless, living in a secular world populated mostly by non-believers. Which means that I understand the irritation I saw at the march.

I know that many non-believers have given deep thought to issues of faith, but I also know that the secular world I inhabit encourages me and my fellow non-believers to think that faith is a slightly harmful lifestyle choice, like smoking: something that you're welcome to do in private but which can and should be set aside when it begins to make the group feel uncomfortable.

Perhaps this view is inevitable in a world in which everything is up for debate. If there are no practical absolutes, no uncrossable intellectual lines - in other words, if every argument can end with the decision to go for a drink and to resume real life - then surely something as intangible as religious belief can be set aside to help grease the wheels of society?

But having watched that guitar-playing preacher at work, I'm starting to see things slightly differently. And instead of being irritated by him and his ilk, I'm beginning to feel the first flickers of gratitude.

Let me explain.

Imagine for a moment that you have had a supernatural revelation at the gym.

You were minding your business on the bike when suddenly a very muscly angel appeared with terrifying news: every person on the planet was about to die of a heart attack. Maybe today, maybe next year. He wasn't clear. But it was going to happen.

You were about to panic when he held up his fiery water bottle and told you that there was good news: anyone who joined your gym and worked out three times a week would be saved and could live out the rest of their lives healthily and happily.

So what do you do now? Well, you've got two choices. Either you can warn only your friends and family and condemn 7 billion other people to an entirely avoidable death in the very near future, or you can be a mensch and get out there and start selling gym memberships.

I don't know about you but I'd feel compelled to spend every waking hour selling gym memberships. Taking two minutes to wolf my breakfast or have a quick shower would feel like a murderous indulgence when I could use the time to knock on doors or flag down cars and save dozens of people.

And this is where I've found myself: I've started seeing the evangelists as frantic salespeople flogging gym memberships. And, if I'm honest, I've started feeling a little let down by my religious friends. I mean, if you genuinely believe with all your heart that an avoidable torment is waiting for me unless I see the light, why aren't you trying to save me? Seriously, guys, what the hell? Are you willing to let me burn because you don't want to make our coffee date awkward? And why do you even have time for a coffee date? Get out there!

I know this seems like a slippery slope towards fundamentalist insanity, ending with me insisting that the Lord's Resistance Army is worthy of greater respect than a local Anglican cake sale, or that one should disparage Muslims who don't join Islamic State. This is obviously not the case: there is a universe of difference between inviting people to share your beliefs and spreading them at gunpoint.

But in these times, when we automatically suspect a con or hypocrisy or cant, it can be gently calming to remember that sometimes, just sometimes, the guy trying to save you is just trying to save you, because he's trying to save himself.

And if you don't need to be saved, just tell him what you tell the gym. Yeah, used to go, can't really afford it now, sorry. Bye.