An atheist in New York

It’s summer 1975. My first time out in the world. From rural West-Friesland to midtown Manhattan may be a small step for Mankind, but heck, it is a giant leap for me. My neck hurts from craning, trying to look all the way to the top of every building on Fifth Avenue. My atheist view of the world pines even more, and the feel starts gnawing that this skyscraping can’t have been done without God’s hand.

That afternoon the feverish, trembling feelings of outlandishness calm down walking the cemetery of Trinity Church at Wall Street, when I absorb all those Dutch names. My landsmen who built the center of the world at a time that God’s steeples never topped two hundred feet. I follow George Washington’s footsteps into the St. Paul’s Chapel and sink down onto the pews. Whilst George walked out with the joy of never having to attend church again, all of a sudden I experience the joy of being saved.

as remembered by Evert Wilbrink,
El Prat de Llobregat, July 25 2024