I am privileged enough to go to a very diverse school, a school that prides itself on the merging of different cultures and beliefs while striving to function as one body.

My school has a commons area, a big, huge circle in front of a clock tower, this area is one of my favorite areas of campus, because it truly and wholeheartedly reminds me of Athens in Ancient Greece, where philosophers would sit down and well...philosophy. This area is a place for debates, questions, promotions of what you believe.

I've seen atheists, democrats, republicans speak on this ground. I've seen nasty preachers and I've seen kind ones. I've seen agnostics, I've seen those who have wanted to end a war...I've seen those who have wanted to start a social one.

One day, I was walking to my class, and I saw a preacher. He was an older preacher, his hands were wrinkled, his hands were shaky, his old leather bible was falling apart. He had a sign that read, "Jesus is the Way, Ask Me Questions." I smiled. He talked about God's unfailing love. He talked about the Creation of the world as Christians know it. I am a Christian, and I felt happy that my faith was been represented by someone so gentle. Someone who wanted to talk about religion in the platform of a conversation, of a learning "ask me questions" experience, not a brow-beat.

I stayed and watch the dialog, and it started out okay. However, as more and more people came, I realized that instead of coming with an intention to ask questions to learn, they came with the intentions of asking questions to humiliate.

There was a group of men, a group of college age, young men, who obviously were extremely atheist, which is fine. I know a lot of good people who are atheists.

The first one looked at the older man, and said, "So, can you tell me why your Creation Theory doesn't explain why we are apes. Animals." The older man smiled and sat down on his bench, "See, sir, I don't believe that we are JUST animals, I believe that we are souls."

This sparked a war. I heard, "old bastard." I heard, "Answer my question, retard, where's your God?" I heard, "this is a place of education, not stupidity." I heard hate that day. I heard dehumanization. The man, as tender as he was, was scrambling nervously through his Bible.

I am a pretty soft spoken person, but there are times in life when you feel in the deepest core of your soul, that if you walk away with out saying something, you lost a battle that you could have fought with words of education and love. You could have won it with education and love. You could have done something.

If this were a gay person standing there, or a black person, or a woman, and I heard the words, "bastard, retard, stupid" I would have said something. People would have said something. But because it was an older man, a Pastor, clutching a Bible, was this human any less human than the rest?

"Excuse me," I said to the group of students, "I don't have much time before my class, but I was hoping I could ask you guys a few questions." They stared at me.

"I just wanted to know what you guys were explicitly trying to gain out of this conversation. See, I am a Christian, an academic, and a scholar, and when I ask questions, I want to learn. I want to learn about people I don't agree with. I want to learn about the concepts of the life around me. What do you wan't to learn?"

They continued to stare. One of them finally stated, "So if you are a Christian, you are inherently biased. Of course you aren't going to see the faults in his theories of creation, I don't think that even having a conversation with you would help."

"Why?" I asked, "I'd like to learn about you. I do believe in God, I believe that He created me, and he gave me a soul. I know that you don't believe that, and since neither one of us were around for the creation of the world, and the Theory of Evolution is called, well, a theory, too, why does it automatically make someone stupid to believe one thing, or another. Believing in either would require an amount of faith, one in God, one in science. I can't help but notice, you are beating down this man in the name of the intelligence behind your academics, but any academic would know that asking questions to harass rather than learn is a waste of scholarly opportunity, as well as being ethically wrong."

"See, that's the problem with you, you are trying to make this a moral debate. A debate on right and wrong. I don't believe in a higher power, no one can jail me with the concept of right and wrong behavior. No one can stop me from calling people out, questioning what needs to be questioned. We live, we die. This man is just coming here, wasting my time, wasting his life. We need to outgrow faith. We need to outgrow faith so that we can be free to learn. I have the freedom to take any position I want in an argument. I have the freedom to wake up and do what I want, and you can't say the same because you're hindered."

I said quietly, firmly, and gently, "It is always a debate on right and wrong. And I can't speak for you, but I can speak for myself. And I can say confidently, that my faith allows me to love you (I looked at him in the eyes), and love him (I looked at the pastor), and love your friend. I don't even have to know your name, and I can see you in the act of humiliating someone, and still, in my heart, I can love you, because a God who loves ME, and if that makes me hindered, I'd rather stay hindered. I'd rather live in the confines of loving someone, I'd rather live with a purpose of loving someone, rather than being "free," if freedom means that there is no hope in a great, great love between a God-soul and a human soul, and a human soul and a human soul. So if that is what this preacher once to do, let him be."

I didn't get a response. I got eye contact. I got an open mouth, but I didn't get a response.

"I'm late to class," I said, "I have to be on my way. Love you, brother."

And I walked away, and my heart was filled to the brim. It was overflowing. It wasn't because of a conversation. It wasn't because I had thought I'd "won." It wasn't about victory over anyone. It was because at that moment I really did realize that I indeed, did love everyone.

I love every atheist.

I love every jew.

I love every LGBT person.

I love every Christian.

I love every human being sitting in a jail cell right now.

I love the people that I don't even like.

All because of a God who loved me when I didn't want to be loved by anyone. A God who refused to stop holding my heart when I wanted my heart to be calloused. A God who literally grabbed hold of my soul and shook it and fought back in a time where I was trying so hard to be at war with myself, and He said, "Let me be your peace." When I know that love, I can't truly ever do anything but love everyone ever again.

There are a lot of bad Christians, there are a lot of bad Atheists. There are good and bad in every sub-community. In every sexual orientation. The human in me wants to understand the mystery to the madness, it makes me want to judge people, it makes me want to try to figure out for myself who I believe is worthy. That is the human in me. The Christ in me, well, the Christ in me allows me to love free of understanding, or, of understanding and loving still.