I was about 12 when I first learned that there were people who didn’t believe in god. Until then, I’d had no idea that no-god-belief was even an option. As far as I knew, everyone believed in god, and everyone I knew personally believed in god, or said they did. The medium through which I learned about atheism and agnosticism was a TV show called All in the Family and the first “out” nonbeliever I encountered, via the boob tube, was Mike Stivic, Archie Bunker’s agnostic son-in-law. All I figured out at that time was that agnostics professed not to know whether god existed, and atheists did not believe in god. I didn’t know of any way to find out more about nonbelief, so I just tucked those little bits of information into some corner of my mind. I didn’t love god. I didn’t want to “do god’s will.” And I certainly didn’t want to go to church as often as I did, but I wasn’t in a position to change that circumstance anytime soon. So, I got on with my life as best I could.

I was about 14 when we studied Greek mythology in 9th grade English class. I was greatly amused by those randy gods who couldn’t resist having sex with all those beautiful mortal women. One day, I had a weird thought: What’s the difference between those gods and dolls, and god and Mary? Wow! Stunning idea! An idea I quickly dismissed by rationalizing that god didn’t actually have sex with Mary, so it wasn’t the same thing at all.

So I went on living my life.

But…that Virgin Birth thing never really sat well with me; I had a feeling there was more to that story than I was being told. I believed in god, Jesus, the whole evangelical schtick as far as I knew it, but I still didn’t love god or Jesus, and I still didn’t want to “do god’s will.” I just labeled myself a rebel and got on with my life.

I was in my mid-teens when I “got my heart right with god,” and, after graduating from high school, I attended a Christian college. Needless to say, the indoctrination process there was thorough, and I graduated completely convinced that Christianity was the True Religion, and evangelicalism was the right way to do it.

Fast forward to my mid-thirties. I’m the oldest person in my graduate school History of Education class. I’m also the only former minister. One day, as we’re examining Martin Luther’s writings on education, a student asks: What’s he talking about when he keeps saying that the devil is tempting him? I wait for the prof to field the question, then jump in when he shrugs his shoulders. I explain that all indications were that Luther believed that Satan was a real being – a spirit being, but a real entity nonetheless – who worked evil in the world and in people’s lives. She looks astonished that any adult would believe such a thing. The prof looks abashed, but doesn’t say anything. I just shrug my shoulders and think, “Yeah, it does sound pretty silly, doesn’t it.” That was the day I stopped believing in Satan.

There were other signposts along my de-conversion trail – points at which I stopped, caught my breath, and wondered whether the path I was following led anywhere at all. I’ve written about some of them before but there’s more to tell. In good cliffhanger fashion, I’ll save those stories for another day.

– the chaplain

Young people aren’t walking away from the church—they’re sprinting. According to a recent study by Ranier Research, 70 percent of youth leave church by the time they are 22 years old. Barna Group estimates that 80 percent of those reared in the church will be “disengaged” by the time they are 29 years old. Unlike earlier generations of church dropouts, these “leavers” are unlikely to seek out alternative forms of Christian community such as home churches and small groups. When they leave church, many leave the faith as well.

Thus opens the publicity blurb for a book entitled, Generation Ex-Christian: Why Young Adults are Leaving the Church and How to Bring Them Back. In an interview published by Christianity Today, author Drew Dyck made this observation:

No two “leavers” are exactly the same, but some patterns did emerge. “Postmodern” leavers reject Christianity because of its exclusive truth claims and moral absolutes. For them, Christian faith is just too narrow. “Recoilers” leave because they were hurt in the church. They suffered some form of abuse at the hands of someone they saw as a spiritual authority. God was guilty by association. “Modernists” completely reject supernatural claims. God is a delusion. Any truth beyond science is dismissed as superstition. “Neo-pagans” are those who left for earth-based religions such as Wicca. Not all of these actually cast spells or perform pagan rituals, but they deny a transcendent God, and see earth as the locus of true spirituality. Spiritual “Rebels” flee the faith to indulge in behavior that was incompatible with their faith. They also value autonomy and don’t want anyone—especially a superintending deity—telling them what to do. “Drifters” do not suffer intellectual crises or consciously leave the faith; they simply drift away. Over time God becomes less and less important until one day he’s no longer part of their lives.

These groupings were not meant to be scientifically precise; their value was diagnostic and utilitarian. I wanted to help people understand why young people abandon the faith and equip Christians to engage leavers in meaningful conversations about God.

I’ll list Dyck’s categories below to facilitate my consideration of them:

• Postmodern
• Recoilers
• Modernists
• Neo-Pagans
• Rebels
• Drifters

I don’t think much needs to be said about the “Postmodern” category, as Dyck appears to have described that mindset adequately. I am offended, however, by his glib dismissal of the “Recoilers:” people failed and God was blamed unfairly. Uh, no, Drew – people failed and God did not do what he was reasonably expected to do, either

a) protect the victims who were hurt, or
b) prevent the perpetrators from hurting them.

In other words, Drew, God reneged on two of his key responsibilities: delivering people from evil (which is doubly evil when it’s done at the hands of so-called “godly” people or, even worse, in the name, and on behalf, of a god), and enabling his followers to be good, kind and honest, rather than nasty, brutish and devious. I consider divine protection and divine prevention (or intervention) reasonable expectations because both of those functions are ascribed to the Christian god in the Bible and in church doctrine. Therefore, when a god does not perform as promised, it’s reasonable to wonder if he/she/it does anything at all, including merely existing, and to reject a god that doesn’t live up to its billing.

Dyck’s characterization of “Modernist” church-leavers renders that category as little more than a stick-figure. Since his book is an example of social scientific research, one would presume that his concept of “science” goes beyond the “hard,” physical sciences that often come to mind when the term “science” is used in casual conversation. Readers who understand Dyck’s use of the term in that narrow sense may miss the fact that many, if not most, Modernist atheists are informed by insights gained through the natural sciences, the social sciences, the humanities, and the arts. We are not geeks with our eyes glued to microscopes, and pens and calculators sagging in our shirt pockets. We are multi-faceted people with multi-faceted interests who think in multi-faceted ways, characteristics that Dyck’s categorization appears to miss, or dismiss, completely.

The author’s final two categories seem adequate. I went through a period of spiritual rebellion as a teen, and I’ll admit that his description captures quite accurately the attitude I had then. And many of us can probably think of people who are Drifters.

I briefly considered getting Dyck’s book, just for shits and giggles, but I’ve decided to keep my money in my wallet. The bottom line is, I’m not going to waste my time reading a book that

…equips and inspires parents, church leaders, and everyday Christians to reawaken the prodigal’s desire for God and set him or her back on the road to a dynamic faith…. identifies six different kinds of leavers…and offers practical advice for how to connect with each type. Shrewd tips also intersperse the chapters alerting readers to opportunities for engagement, and to hidden landmines they must sidestep to effectively reach leavers.

The reason I’m not interested in reading this book is that Dyck has misidentified the problem at hand. His view is that people who leave churches are problems. I don’t agree with him. In my view, the people who leave churches are not problems. Rather, churches themselves are problems. The problem is not that so many people are leaving the church. The problem is that too many of them are staying.

– the chaplain

First, the creation of life forms is not a particularly significant accomplishment for a deity or deities that are capable of doing all sorts of spectacular things. A galaxy here and a supernova there, a parasite here and a mammal there – just another mundane day in the deity office. Ho hum; now it’s time to rest. Big deal.

Second, religious believers frequently assert that earthly life is second-rate compared to what’s ahead in the next life (or lives). Life on earth in the here and now is a trial run, a testing ground, the primary significance of which is to prepare people (or allow people to prepare themselves, or for people to allow god(s) to prepare them – there are many variations on this theme) for the hereafter. If you think this life is great, just wait till you get to heaven; you haven’t seen anything yet. Or, if you think this life sucks, just wait till you get to heaven; god(s) will reward your patience and faithfulness with something much better.

Third, there are religious believers who teach that humankind is the pinnacle of creation. Think about this a moment. As marvelous as human life is, it takes real hubris to believe that humanity is the apex of creation. Bertrand Russell put this idea well when he said, “If I were granted omnipotence, and millions of years to experiment in, I should not think Man much to boast of as my final accomplishment.” Human life is remarkable, but to consider it the best thing going (outside of heaven) is tragically impoverished.

On the other hand, a naturalistic view of life, which asserts that we still don’t know exactly how life came about, but we do know quite a lot about how it functions now and how it developed historically – once it got started (on earth) – inspires awe. Life is precious precisely because, in many ways, it’s mysterious. Regardless of whether we ever figure out exactly how life began, it will always retain an air of wonder. After all, as abundant as organic life is on earth, it is relatively rare compared to the abundance of inorganic matter that surrounds us. It’s amazing that anything lives at all, let alone that the earth teems with countless life forms ranging from bacteria to whales. Life is also precious because the best evidence uncovered thus far indicates that living beings only get one chance at it. There are no do-overs, no second chances, no hereafters. This life is all we get, so it’s important to make the most of it. Finally, as varied as life on earth is, there may be other planets that are populated with many other life forms, forms that may (or may not) resemble the diversity of life here. There is still much more to learn about life right here on our little planet, and there may well be volumes to discover about life on other worlds. I find all of these ideas utterly inspiring and more than a little bit humbling.

One does not need to believe in divine sanction to treasure life. Rather, all one needs is an appreciation for the wonder of a cosmos that humankind is just beginning to understand. As far as we can tell so far, life forms play small roles on the stage of the cosmos. Organic beings may be relatively few in number, but we’re pretty amazing nonetheless. This shouldn’t surprise you. After all, it’s often the bit characters that steal the show.

– the chaplain

Generally speaking, I could care less what Christians do with their holy book. I should think, however, that Christians would care deeply about the matter. At least one conservative Christian commenter at the Washington Post agrees with me:

Does anyone other than me find it ironic that the Conservative Bible Project hijacks a supposedly sacred text and manipulates it for political purposes? Then again, it’s not like that’s never happened before. Still, this strikes me as a disrespectful way to treat one’s holy book. Is it too much to ask conservative Christians to recognize that the Bible is a collection of religious writings? It’s not a science book, or a history book, or a psychology book, or a sociology text, or a political platform. It’s a collection of religious reflections – many of which referred to scientific, historic and other ideas as they were understood at the time – on humankind’s place in the cosmos. Some of those reflections still have value for contemporary humans, others – not so much.

One of the most interesting reinterpretations offered on the Washington Post comment thread was this:

If that commenter’s right, then my guess is that Caesar would have gotten along well with George W. Bush. Hmm. Maybe the Bible is a conservative political text after all.

– the chaplain

My current answer to that question is this:

All I’d need to believe in to believe in god would be a direct, unequivocal, simultaneous revelation of him/her/itself to all humankind.

Sacred writings are insufficient – we already have plenty of those; they are only persuasive to those who, for psychological, emotional and sociological reasons are predisposed to believe them. Moreover, many of them contradict each other and there are no standardized criteria by which humanity can separate the wheat from the chaff.

Personal testimonies are insufficient – we already have plenty of those; they are totally subjective events, which can be described to, but not experienced by, others. Therefore, differing interpretations of the events are not easily resolved.

Traditions and creeds are insufficient – we already have plenty of those; many of them continue to be useful at the current time, and others have been discarded for more effective or humane alternatives.

Miracles are insufficient – we already have plenty of purported miracles that have, eventually, been explained as natural phenomena. Even if one grants that some events have not been explained – yet – as natural phenomena, the odds are that natural explanations for these events will be discovered eventually. Moreover, even if an event could only be explained as miraculous, then that explanation would raise a plethora of questions about the being that performed the miraculous act: its identity; its character; its intentions toward humankind…. A miracle, or a series of miracles, would not lead me immediately to the answer that “God A” or “God B” or “God Z” did it. Instead, a miracle or series of miracles would lead me to ask questions rather than jump to conclusions.

Why would I require a direct, unequivocal, simultaneous revelation to all humankind? First, if the revelation came to me alone, I’d have no way to ascertain whether it was revelation or imagination or hallucination. Second, if the revelation came to me and a group of others, those who did not share the experience would have no way to ascertain for themselves the reality of our experience. It seems that the best way to avoid the pitfalls of limited revelations like these would be a broad revelation of the sort that I prefer: direct, unequivocal, simultaneous, and shared among all humankind.

Instead of secrets, mysteries, exclusivity and faith, I ask for clarity, simplicity and inclusiveness. Is that too much to ask of a supreme being?

– the chaplain

Max shared with me a few things about last week’s pastoral visit. He began by saying, “I love Raymond. He’s a really great guy. So is Mr. Stanley. But, sometimes I don’t hold my tongue very well when they start talking about religion. I just don’t want to talk about it. And Mr. Stanley doesn’t always hold his tongue very well, either, so our conversations can get heated.”

After we chatted some more, Max said, “Mr. Stanley wants me to fly out west to spend time with my sister. I said I’d take a couple of days for that. Mr. Stanley said, ‘No, I want you to really take time and be with your sister.’ I don’t want to do that. I haven’t told her how bad my condition is because she’ll get on the religious stuff even worse than Mr. Stanley and Raymond. A couple of days of it is all I’ll be able to stand.”

As we wound down our conversation, Max said, “Mr. Stanley keeps telling me that he’s praying for a miracle for me. I just tell him it’s not likely to happen. I enjoy visiting with Mr. Stanley and Raymond, but I wish that sometimes they’d come over just to chat and joke with me.”

That last sentence makes me want to cry. It’s haunted me for two days. Max has six months to live and all he wants is for the people around him to accept him. He wants friendship, not evangelism. How often do Christians become so concerned about someone’s soul that they overlook all of the stuff that comprises a person’s life and personality? Mr. Stanley and Raymond genuinely like Max, but he’s also something of a project for them. Their primary concern is to get him saved before he dies. Their prayer requests on Max’s behalf invariably include the idea that “Max needs to come to know the Lord before he dies.” I don’t want to denigrate their concerns, because I understand all too well how deeply felt and sincere they are. But, their passion for Max’s soul is robbing them of the opportunities to appreciate Max just as he is and to enjoy his company in its own right. They’re so busy focusing on what they see as his eternal future that they are shortchanging the present. Max’s sister is making the same mistake and the consequence is heartbreaking: Max can hardly stand the thought of spending more than a token amount of time with his only living relative. Mr. Stanley, Raymond and Max’s sister all believe they have relationships with a god. What they don’t realize is that their belief that Max needs a similar experience is seriously straining their relationships with him. Religion is ruining, or, at the very least, damaging, precious human bonds. I find that very sad.

– the chaplain

The question of whether the Bible is God’s word is not a new one…. There are certainly a number of things which seem “wrong” if we are to take a literal understanding….Yes, genetics has confirmed that we are all related through mitochondrial DNA – but this does not mean one person; it means one small group of people (who were located somewhere in Africa). It also assumes that humanity is hundreds of thousands of years old, which means we need to accept, at least in part, the theory of evolution….

*************

Suddenly, we find ourselves in the position of looking at the Bible and deciding which parts are to be taken literally, which parts are to be taken allegorically, and which parts are to be understood as no longer applying to us because they have “been fulfilled in Christ.” This is a very dangerous thing to do. Once we start doing that, what difference is there between Christianity and any other man-made religion?

**********

…the Bible has been used to say whatever man wants it to say…and so justify anything we want it to.

His conclusion is this:

The Bible is not The Word of God; it is commentary on The Word of God. It is fallible and open to interpretation. It gives us a historical understanding of how men and women have understood God and salvation. It must continue to change and evolve. If it doesn’t, then – as all things which do not change and grow – it is dead and has no power.

I applaud this author’s honesty in recognizing that certain portions of the Bible, taken literally, do not comport with what we in the 21st century understand about the world. He is rational enough to recognize that the fundamentalist “old time religion” simply doesn’t make sense in the contemporary world. On the one hand, I applaud his recognition that the theory of evolution must be taken seriously. On the other hand, I don’t know which parts of the theory he wants to keep and which parts he wants to discard, nor do I know why he wants only bits and pieces of the theory rather than the whole. I also applaud his honesty in acknowledging that people have used the Bible to justify things that simply are not justifiable (except, it seems, under the auspices of religion).

Having said all that, I must note that his conclusion expresses – unintentionally, I’m sure – precisely what is wrong with liberal Christianity. What does it mean to say that, rather than being the direct word of God, the Bible is simply commentary on The Word of God? How can the Bible make any sense as commentary unless one has an original “word” to compare with it? Moreover, if one accepts his premise, then why is the Bible any more authoritative than anyone else’s commentary? To take another tack, if the author is obliquely referring to Jesus as the real Word of God, his sentiment is still nonsensical.

The Bible is our only source for learning anything about the alleged life, acts and words of Jesus. If it is only commentary, rather than revelation, then we are no closer to getting direct communications from God, either through scripture or through Jesus. Furthermore, the Bible itself cannot “change and evolve over time.” It is a set collection of writings. It is interpretations of the text that have evolved, not the text itself. Let me amend that. Scholarship in the past couple of centuries has revealed – to the chagrin of many believers – that the biblical texts have changed over time (although they shouldn’t have), which is one of the reasons that the question of infallibility arises in the first place. Still, comparatively speaking, the biblical text has remained relatively static for two millenia, while interpretations of the text have changed substantially throughout that period.

I agree with the author that the Bible is fallible and open to interpretation. I also agree with him that the Bible simply “gives us a historical understanding of how men and women have understood God and salvation.” If one accepts those things, then how does one determine whether those understandings are right, meaningful, misguided, dangerous or evil? How can the author support claims that his interpretation of the Bible is the right one, but another interpretation, i.e., a misogynist one (which he rejects), is wrong? The reality is this: when one seeks to determine which biblical interpretations trump the others, one inevitably turns to sources other than the Bible. That being the case, why not simply dispense with the Bible completely, or at least relegate it to a much lower level of authority?

If the foundational book upon which a religion is founded is acknowledged to be nothing more than a collection of human writings, then the answer to the author’s question, “what difference is there between Christianity and any other man-made religion?” is simple: there is none. Christianity, like all other religions, is solely the product of human imagination, a completely human phenomenon. Once one dispenses with the notion that the Bible is a specially inspired, direct revelation from God – and one must, given the numerous textual and factual errors, as well as contradictions, that litter the Bible from cover to cover – then one must accept that the Bible’s teachings are no more authoritative, inspired or inspirational than the teachings that have come from the pens of many others. This author is free, of course, to continue his pursuit of god-belief and understanding of his Christian creed, but, I can’t help wondering why he bothers. Life is plenty rich and fulfilling without the clutter of religious dogma. Maybe, if he’s willing to be honest with himself, this Christian author will discover that for himself.

- the chaplain

Enter the Christians. A compassionate pastor and a group of friendly church people befriended the couple. Church members raised money to help pay mounting medical bills. The pastor and the church members kept in touch with Danny and Danielle throughout the pregnancy. Eventually, Bobbi was born alive; she lived for 18 months. And, in that time, Danny became a born-again Christian.

I’ve got four things to say about this story. First, I commend the Christians for behaving according to their creed. Their religion commands them to love others and they did so. They gave both practical and spiritual support to people who were in great need emotionally and financially. Good for them.

Second, I can’t imagine the hell that Danny and Danielle endured and I understand how the support of a loving community made the difference between surviving their ordeal and sinking into despondency. When Danny and Danielle were in need, a nice group of people helped them and loved them. I also understand that even just a few short months of life with their child was better than never having that relationship at all. And, I understand the attraction that a group of kind people and their faith had for a couple searching for answers to some of life’s most profound and painful questions.

Third, I’m not at all impressed with the god of this story. He didn’t perform any miracles. Doctors predicted either a stillbirth or a short life. The baby lived, as predicted, a short life. Poor Danny asked for a miracle and this was what he got. He, his wife and their church friends set their standards far too low. If God is powerful enough to raise the dead, to smite armies, to feed thousands with a couple of fish and a few loaves of bread, why didn’t he deliver a child free of a debilitating defect? I don’t see the activity of a deity in this story at all. I see nature working in its indifferent way, a way that sometimes leads to beauty and sometimes leads to tragedy. I don’t see God working in and through the lives of his people. I see people who probably would have befriended the couple anyway, with or without a religious creed to define their attitudes and actions. Their compassion was not the product of a god working in their hearts, it was the product of their own innate decency.

Four, I wish that the friendships that abound in this story would have been accomplished without the framework of religion to constrain them. This story speaks poignantly of both the power and the depth of human empathy and compassion. Danny, Danielle and Bobbi didn’t need a deity; they needed other people. The Christians didn’t need a deity; they had tremendous strength and love within themselves. Danny, Danielle, the pastor and all of the church people have sold themselves short. Instead of recognizing their own virtue, they believe that the source of all their goodness is a small god who performs pitifully small miracles. That’s almost as tragic as the death of baby Bobbi.

– the chaplain

When I was a teen, most of my friends and I were apathetic believers in the Judeo-Christian version of god. We believed in a deity, but we weren’t the least bit interested in surrendering to him or finding his perfect will for our lives. In fact, as a preacher’s kid, I may have been more overtly anti-religious and rebellious than my peers. This was my basic attitude until I was sixteen years old, when I underwent two major life changes.

The first change took place over the summer, when I had an opportunity to travel with an evangelistic team for ten weeks. Even though my faith was apathetic, at best, I was enticed by the glamor of traveling with a group of teens and young adults and actually getting paid for the privilege! What a blast! And it was. The team consisted of eleven members, ten of whom were actually committed Christians. I was the odd person out. I didn’t let on that I wasn’t saved and, since I could easily talk the talk, I breezed through the summer and, to all outward appearances, fit right in with the rest of the group. I really liked these people: even though they were on fire for Jesus, they were friendly, fun and funny.

Notwithstanding the close relationships that developed in that ten weeks, had I simply returned home to my usual peer group of apatheists, I likely would have fit right back in with them too. The thing is – this is the second change – I never returned home. My parents had received “farewell orders” (Salvation Army-speak for a transfer) in the middle of the summer, and we moved in early September. I never even got to say goodbye to most of my old friends.

So, within the space of three months I had a) developed an important new peer group and b) been removed completely from the old peer group. Moreover, after the move I was able to maintain my connections with my new friends. Since they were all Christians, I wanted to be more like them. I wanted to fit in for real and not fake it anymore. So, at the age of sixteen, I got saved. At that point, my religious experience was primarily about belonging, about being like my friends.

Fast forward two years. My parents insisted that I spend at least one year at an evangelical Christian college. They promised that, if I really didn’t like it, I could transfer after the first year. You can guess what happened next. Moving 500 miles from home to attend college meant that, once again, I had to leave behind my peer group and establish an entirely new social network. Since we were in a Christian college, most of my new friends were Christians. Not surprisingly, by the end of the year, I had adjusted to the place and the people and was not eager to make yet another change. I had started dating the deacon too. Needless to say, I didn’t even think about transferring to another college.

By this time, my Christian faith was genuine. I honestly believed in the Trinity, the virgin birth, the resurrection and most of the typical conservative Christian doctrines. Moreover, I was being taught by very skilled biblical scholars, theologians and apologists. They seemed to have the answers to any questions one could raise about the content of Christian beliefs. This indoctrination was enhanced by being shared with a community of believers. Quite simply, by this point, virtually everyone I knew was a conservative Christian. It was easy to be one of them.

After the deacon and I finished that phase of our educations, we moved into full-time ministry. I only found out this past year that the deacon had already begun having serious questions about Christianity before we even finished school. But, he was married to an evangelical Christian; he couldn’t possibly share his severe doubts with me. Yep – it was that belonging thing again. As for me, I didn’t think much about my beliefs for well over a decade. Why would I have done so? I had a great husband and family, and even though life had its ups and downs, it was basically pretty good. Why would I question my beliefs?

And yet, somewhere along the line, I did start questioning them. It was a slow, erratic process, but, once the doors of my mind had cracked open, I had to keep pushing them farther and farther apart. After about ten years of questioning, shelving questions, coming back later to take questions off the shelves and dust them off for another look, I decided to settle the issue once and for all in the summer of 2007. Looking back now, I see that shedding the religious beliefs is the easy part of rejecting Christianity (don’t think for a moment that it’s a painless process; it hurts as much as the death of a family member or close friend does). The really tough thing about rejecting Christianity is the not-belongingness it entails. Now, when Christian friends and family members talk about how God is working in their lives or how God answers their prayers, I can only listen as an incredulous outsider. I know what it’s like to believe those things happen, but I no longer share the experiences of those beliefs and feelings (nor do I want to do so). I don’t belong to the fellowship of religious believers anymore. It’s okay, though; I got a good bargain when I traded the comfort of belonging for intellectual integrity and independence.

- the chaplain

My emotional response throughout Frank’s illness and rehab has been sorrow. Every time I visit Frank and see him in his wheelchair or bed, I can’t help contrasting that man with the younger man who cheered as I played softball, the man who joyfully wandered around a zoo with my young children, the man who drove 4,000 miles across North America to visit my family. I feel overwhelming sorrow that most of Frank’s days will now be spent in the confines of a nursing home. A man who has traveled around the world now finds that a wheelchair journey down the hall is a major event that draws upon all of his physical resources. How can that thought not make me sad?

The emotion that I have not felt throughout Frank’s ordeal is anger. At what or whom would I be angry? There is no god to blame for not intervening in Frank’s life and healing him. There is no god to implore for mercy, no god to whom I may inquire what Frank could possibly have done to deserve this fate after decades of faithful, loving service to his god. This is a sharp contrast to the anguish and anger I felt 25 years ago when I was a Christian and my Christian father was dying of cancer. My siblings and I were called to my father’s bedside about three weeks before he died. We spent two days visiting with him and my mother in the hospital in which he later died. When we said goodbye, we knew it was the last time we would ever say those words to each other.

A couple of days later, I woke up on a Sunday morning and thought, “I don’t want to go to church today. I’m not in the mood to worship.” Since I was the pianist, however, there was no way that my absence from the service would have gone unnoticed (and playing for the services was part of my job). So, I went to church. Since the band accompanied the first song, I was able expected to sing with the congregation. The song was entitled, God is Love. I opened my mouth and nothing came out. I literally could not sing those words. At that moment, I didn’t believe that God was love. I didn’t want to worship him. I was livid with God for allowing my father, who was only 57 years old, to suffer the pain and indignity of death from cancer. I was angry at him for not answering our prayers.

I eventually got over my anger and continued living and believing as a Christian for another 24 years after Dad died. But, I never forgot that my belief in God did not provide consolation in my time of greatest grief. Now, 25 years later, as someone I love is facing the torment of a protracted illness, I don’t look to God for solace. My knowledge that the god of Christianity is false enables me to face Frank’s illness with, in addition to sorrow, a determination to do whatever lies within my power to help him and his wife. My knowledge that the god of Christianity is false allows me not to waste time and energy praying for healing that, if it comes at all, will only come by human agency. My knowledge that the god of Christianity is false frees me from the confusion and anger that arise from unanswered prayers, from the concern that the god that Frank worships has elected, for mysterious reasons that are beyond human understanding, not to intervene in his life and perform a miracle of healing. I just know that Frank’s illness is an aspect of life that must be endured, just as many aspects of life are enjoyed to their fullest extent.

There is no one to blame for what has happened to Frank, and there is no one to beseech for his healing. Knowing these things has given me greater solace in a time of sorrow than Christian faith ever did.

– the chaplain