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I was brought up without clear direction on what to believe. My parents had rather different worldviews — my dad aligned himself most closely with Buddhism and my mum liked the writings of Richard Dawkins — but they encouraged my brother and I to make up our own minds.
At school, I had a Christian friend, Jonathan, who was sometimes the target of my dismissive thoughts about religion. He did cite a book, Who Moved the Stone? by Frank Morison, at the time, which must have sparked some interest, but it wasn’t until years later that I actually ended up reading it as a young adult. My school was nominally Christian — hymns, memorising the Lord ’s Prayer and a moral thought in assembly — but I left school hardened to Christianity, judging it to be boring in practice and arrogant in its exclusivity.
