This page was created on September 1, 2004
This page was last updated on January 4, 2005

I distinctly remember the time I met my first real-live, dyed-in-the-wool, outspoken atheist. It was at lunch in Baxter Hall my freshman year in college at Willamette University, and a few of us were discussing the famous "can God make a rock that He cannot move" question from our Philosophy of Religion class when this guy sits down and answers, and I quote: "That's easy -- there is no God." And I almost choked on a green bean.

I was eighteen, fresh out of the high school church Youth Group and a couple of weeks into my independence, and I realized that I had no answer for this guy. My "religion" was a known quantity in the dorm, but never before had I encountered anyone as vocal and sure of himself (and disdainful of anyone who would deign to think other than he) regarding the existence (or lack of such) of any Higher Being. Throughout the remainder of the lunch, I sat in silence, completely at a loss. I had no wise retort, no knowledgeable answer, no argument, nothing. I was ashamed of my faith, ashamed of my ignorance, ashamed of my God.

And my faith began its seven-year descent into doubt and denial right there, that moment, at lunch in my dorm cafeteria.

Now, at that moment, I (unlike my confident and learned friend Mike!) didn't particularly love this atheist who was as bombastic and unnerving as many evangelicals can be. He terrified me. He was a walking, (loudly) talking admonition of my ignorance and superficial faith.

So what did I do? First of all, I avoided him like the plague. Who wants to be reminded of their shortcomings, particularly when they're related to something so significant? Second, I tried my very best not to think. Push away those doubts, Jenn. You know there's a God and Christianity is the only way and Jesus loves you...

But I couldn't argue to convince myself, let alone anyone not inside my own head. Over the next few years, my doubts increased, despite transferring to a Bible college and immersing myself in knowledge about the faith I knew I didn't have anymore. Ultimately, I abandoned the whole idea, and instead pursued various methods of self-destruction for several years.

But what does this have to do with atheists? Nothing... and everything, at least from my retrospective point of view.

While Mr. Freshman Atheist didn't really prove God's existence to me, in the way that Mike suggests, he did push me over the edge of my ignorance -- which, over the course of time, showed me the significance of not just any Higher Being, but of a wise God who made people to be firefighters and doctors and life-savers so He can focus on a bigger picture than any of us human-kinds can ever see, and who imagine Him to be so much less than He is.

I do love atheists and skeptics, though any time I discuss these kinds of issues with them I am continuously simultaneously dreading the revelation of more of my ignorance. But more than loving them, I appreciate them for their willingness to openly question what took me nearly 25 years to dare to ask myself. I respect their faith in the human mind. I am grateful for that horrifying moment at lunch in Baxter Hall when I finally began to explore the nature of faith -- in God, in myself, in knowledge. And most of all I am grateful for the atheists and skeptics in my life who have chosen mutual respect over condescension and disdain -- and graciously, patiently taught me to behave likewise.

At first blush, I was inclined to think that Mike's column was After Eden's first-year summary "clip show," since I got a bit of a "haven't we been here before?" feeling when I read his column. But, I guess we're not "accidentally" locked in the basement, rehashing the last twelve months while patiently waiting for someone to come home -- and we really haven't directly covered the topic of atheism before. Yes, we've sort of "been here" with Take Your Crusade and Shove It!, but this is a different angle.

Oddly enough, after visiting the Freedom from Religion Foundation website I'm underwhelmed. Whatever. I was ready to be blasted by a fire hose, but instead out came a few meager drops. And that's after I stomped on the hose. I guess that I'm having a little difficulty engaging Bruce's argument because it doesn't really hold water.

Firefighters exist to battle a powerful, unforgiving element in our world -- fire. Doesn't one enter the profession knowing this? Doesn't one acknowledge that there will be occasions where the situation is beyond control and the outcome will not be favorable? I'm guessing that the training manual doesn't say, "...and you'll always arrive in time and save everyone -- it's that easy!"

Bruce is dismayed by the fact that tragedy is associated with fire, and that he can't save everyone. Okay, as an engineer, I'll admit that I also tend to focus on the things that are wrong with a product rather than the things that are right with a product. So, I'm willing to let him focus on his failures rather than his successes for even more obvious reasons. However, I fail to see how this is God's fault or how this proves that God and/or Jesus can't exist. I don't want to trivialize the loss of life, but this sort of seems like a dentist concluding there isn't a God when she finds a cavity in a patient's tooth. Would she even be looking in the patient's mouth if cavities didn't exist?

Furthermore, looking through the world in this light seems to flip the glib approach to "miracles" on its ear. From Bruce's perspective, the "miracle" of making a traffic light is replaced by the equally glib assertion that missing a traffic light proves that God can't exist. I'm guessing that God's not going going to be too thrilled with having the odds stacked against him like that.

There have been posts on the After Eden forum about looking for miracles and realizing that they've been there all along. Greg Wright's title "Finding What You Expect" points out that perspective can be a powerful thing. It has been said that how you choose to react to an event shapes how you experience the event. Granted, there are some events that are impossible to celebrate, but for many events this axiom does hold true.

Perspective, whether it comes from a moment of clarity or the passing of time, does shape reality. Now, some would say that time heals all wounds, and that we only tend to see the bright side of past events. However, Jenn's journey to faith clearly illustrates that this doesn't need to be the case, because she ultimately concludes that the outcome of her experience was positive -- without discounting the anguish along the way. I find it interesting that a painful event or series of events can cause one person to conclude that God doesn't exist, yet can cause another to conclude that He does.

In 2 Corinthians, the Apostle Paul speaks of Christianity as "the ministry of reconciliation."⁵ By this, he means that the central story of the faith is the reconciliation of Man to God through the blood of His Son, Jesus. Christianity, then, is the ministry of reconciliation because all who claim the name of Christ are ministers -- literally, servants in the Greek -- of God's specific conciliatory purpose.

But Christianity is not only the ministry of reconciliation -- it is the ministry of all things godly. One of the other theological terms applied to the act of Jesus' death on the cross is redemption. In conceiving Hollywood Jesus, David Bruce understood that Christianity is also the ministry of redemption -- and in particular, it is the redemptive hope for our culture: not through legislation, stone-throwing or critical negativity, but through showing us the godly things already embedded in our culture. For God reveals Himself through all that He has created, even the things that we may not particularly like.

After Eden is dedicated to this redemptive vision. We believe, as G.K. Chesteron put it, that "humanity is not incidentally engaged, but eternally and systematically engaged, in throwing gold into the gutter and diamonds into the sea."⁶ That's not a reality we endorse. We'd like to help salvage the gold from the gutter, and rescue the diamonds from the sea.

Mike Gunn is a pastor at Harambee Church in Tukwila, Washington, and was cofounder of Mars Hill Church in Seattle.

Jenn Wright is a writer with degrees in literature and theology. She is co-writing the Narnia coverage for Hollywood Jesus, which has debuted this fall in anticipation of the first movie's 2005 release.

Hollywood Jesus Senior Editor Greg Wright is a writer and ordained minister of the dramatic arts. He teaches English Literature at Puget Sound Christian College, and is author of Peter Jackson in Perspective: The Power Behind Cinema's The Lord of the Rings.

Editor Dave Stark is an ordained minister and former Microsoft manager. He is now a partner in Restoring Hope Construction.

The Devil's Advocate is a composite personality of our consultants and editorial staff. He may look like someone you know -- and probably thinks like a lot of them.

Jesus
On Moderation

You're not cold, you're not hot -- far better to be either cold or hot! You're stale. You're stagnant. You make me want to vomit.¹

Marx
On Religion

Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people.²

Gandhi
On Prayer

Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is daily admission of one's weakness.³

LeGuin
On Playing God

When either the political or the scientific discourse announces itself as the voice of reason, it is playing God, and should be spanked and stood in the corner.⁴

Chesterton
On Perception
It is a strange thing that many truly spiritual men... have actually spent some hours in speculating upon the precise location of the Garden of Eden. Most probably we are in Eden still. It is only our eyes that have changed.⁷