Tag Archives: awareness

Some Thoughts on Christian Atheism

Some people would think that I would not encounter much rejection of God while teaching at a Christian school, but those people tend to believe that atheism is only an overt spurning of belief, a specific and active form of rejection. However, if we are true to ourselves, we might recognize how much of our lives are marked by disbelief rather than belief, both in supernatural and corporeal realities. I’m not calling professed believers atheists, but I will be bold enough to say that atheism exists within us like a lump in a bowl of mashed potatoes – we can’t see it, no one can be certain it is there, and everything looks fine; however, once we begin to dig around inside ourselves, we find that our capacity for belief is not wholly dominant.

I’m not referring to doubt. Doubt is an element of faith. Without doubt, faith cannot flourish.

Balloons really hammer the point home, don't they?

I’m speaking of a posturing of our lives in a manner that aligns itself against belief. This is the covert nature of atheism – people of faith certainly would not profess unbelief, but they may very well go on living like there is nothing beyond their own dreams, their own desires, their own bodies. They believe in God as a concept, but there are days (or weeks or months or years) where that concept is disconnected from actual living and breathing reality. They may testify to the reality of God, but day by day they show allegiance solely to the law of man. Thus, there seems to be no point to this recognition of God, at least in the sense of altering one’s life. Instead, it’s more like citing a documented source in a research paper – an acknowledgement of God in a deistic sense.

I see this kind of hypocrisy in myself every once in a while. I can claim and speak about my faith, but, in the drudgery of the day, all I’m really thinking about is myself. Awareness of a greater reality is the furthest thing from my mind. As the writer Frederick Buechner has written, some people who claim there is no God may be living as if there is, and some who claim that there most certainly is a God may still live as if there is not.

I think that our shortcomings often stem from this particular problem. It is no easy thing to cultivate an awareness of the Other – one that remains powerful and persuasive throughout our days. However, until we can do this – until we can truly practice this presence of God in the here and now of our spinning world – we will find that the words of our mouths and even the work of our hands do not always match the inclinations of our hearts.


Sabbath Reflections: Week 4

I’m thirty days into this 365 project, posting every day this year. Honestly, I was doubtful I’d even make it this far. Nevertheless, today I couldn’t help but consider what I’ve learned after thirty days of solid wondering. If this project has taught me anything, it is that cultivating an awareness of the mystifying depths that exist under even the most seemingly mundane events (like crying five-years olds, writing classes, rush hour traffic, criticism and green beans to name a few) should not be viewed as a hobby. It is a discipline, and certainly not an easy one. Training our eyes to see beyond the workaday routine is not always pleasant, and encountering the mysteries underneath is not always as magically epiphanal as I assumed it would be.

I think most of us want at least some measure of this kind of seeing – we want to have that poet-like appreciation for a world infused with beauty and truth. However, we normally are satisfied only tapping into that sensibility on the occasional hike, day at the lake, or holiday closeness. The rest of the time, give us reality and we’ll be fine. Maintaining a constant awareness of mysterious beauty – of God at play in our here and now – sounds nice, but when you actually commit yourself to it, you find the practice of it sometimes feels like drudgery, like one more item on the daily to-do list.

This morning, the assigned Gospel passage was out of the second chapter of the Book of Luke, the story of old man Simeon and his (seemingly) chance encounter in the Jerusalem temple with Joseph, Mary and newborn Jesus. The old codger had spent many years in Jerusalem, waiting, watching, trying to maintain that deeper kind of seeing, still believing the Holy Spirit’s promise that he would not die until he had seen the messianic hope of Israel. I’m sure that when he told his family (if they were still around) about this promise, they respectfully praised his devotion to Israel’s deliverance but then rolled their eyes when his back was turned, believing their father/grandfather/great-grandfather had slipped out of awareness and into senility.

But, “moved by the Spirit,” he puttered into the temple on the exact day and at the exact time that Joseph and Mary, according to custom, were presenting their newborn baby. Suddenly, this happy young couple were standing face to face with a wrinkled geriatric with a beaming smile on his face; with dry, callused hands, he gently took drooly, drowsy Jesus from his parent’s arms and hoisted him into the air, praising God in a rasping voice choked with emotion. What was nothing more than a routine abidance of the Law for Mary and Joseph was something so much more, so much deeper, for old Simeon. In the end, all the daily drudgery of waiting and watching and hoping finally culminated in the sight of a little child, who blinked unseeing eyes back at him in the dusty half-light, unable yet to focus, but who would, as Simeon would prophesy himself, one day show the entire world how to see beyond the workaday reality into the mysterious depths of our own hearts.


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