“There was an old man who was born blind. He lived in the hollow of a tree and he’d never seen the beauty of the world around him. When offered the gift of sight by the missionary doctors, he refused. He said, ‘I am content to simply smell the roses.’ And when asked, ‘But what about the beauty of a rainbow?’ he answered, ‘A rainbow, you say? It does not exist.’”
It was a sunny afternoon at the park as I shared this parable with an atheist who adamantly rejected every mention of God. Seemingly amused by the parable, he smiled and gave me a thumbs up as he leaned back in his chair.
“What kind of God would allow a child to get leukemia?” he asked in broken English. Then my opponent across the table from me went silent again.
As I glanced up, his arms were folded and he made a snort as I went back to studying my position on the chess board. This atheist was an educated man. Very articulate. Well dressed, like a banker. I think it was lunch time in the square, and although I’m not sure what he thought of me, he was so intrigued by my parable that he paused the game, if just for a moment.
You know how some things pass without a second thought, but others linger forever? Well, this moment in time has been on my mind for many decades. It happened in Rota, Spain, where I was playing chess in a small, crowded park with many concrete chess tables. With two weeks of leave from the military, I caught a “hop” to this port city, which was one of my favorite locations in Europe. I’ve always enjoyed a game of strategy, and being young, I guess I also enjoyed arguing with atheists. I thought I had the upper hand, but this move was unexpected.
Along with the game on the table, I played a game off the table. A game of distraction and misdirection. A game of trying to play the man, and then the pieces on the board. I broke the rules, but I didn’t care because I was a proud young soldier. Conquest was the goal. So I laid out a parable to a man many years my senior, whom I knew did not believe in God. Never, for even a moment, did I intend on leading him to the Lord. It was just a sorry attempt to distract him enough to win another precious piece of carved wood off the weathered checkered table.
Ten minutes later, awash in naïve exuberance, I had won, while failing to realize what I had lost. Years later, after a baptism and many heartfelt lessons, I’ve grown to regret that moment in the square. You see, I was an unfriendly foreigner in a friendly land. I was a wooden piece on a weathered table. I thought the atheist was the old man in the tree, and failed to realize that he was actually a golden opportunity.
So at times like now, when a bit of shame creeps into my heart, I wish I could go back to Spain and sit at that stone table in the plaza. The one near the town square surrounded with roses on the balconies. And as I’d watch an assortment of patrons go by, I would pray that, by some miracle, that atheist would be there so I could finish what I’d started. I’d tell him the enemy seized control of this world, but that Jesus came to win it back. I’d tell him that the child with leukemia will one day walk on streets of gold. I’d place a Book on that worn table, signed by my Creator—a gift to a man who sought an answer to the question I never answered.
But the reality is that the atheist chess player would not be there.
So, after many stormy seasons, it seems that the parable has changed; like a weathered chessboard, it is no longer the same, because there was an old man that lived in that tree—until I found out that old man was just me.
“Knowing this, that our old man was crucified with Him, that the body of sin might be done away with, that we should no longer be slaves of sin.” Romans 6:6
“The twelve gates were twelve pearls: each individual gate was of one pearl. And the street of the city was pure gold, like transparent glass.” Revelation 21:21
