FAITH HOUSE Manhattan

Songs About All of Us: Dan Bern's God Said No

~ by Samir Selmanovic

This song has been coming back to me over and over again, ever since I first heard it on Dan Bern's 2001 album New American Language (thank you Ralf for this gift!). Dan is an indie acoustic folk/rock singer-songwriter. God Said No is a time-travel song that questions our desire to change the past (and by extension, see into the future).  Dan's vision of an encounter with God implies we cannot escape from now, where God is. This song, once it enters your system, can help free you from some illusions you might have about yourself.

I could not find Dan Bern's video performance of this song. Following are the lyrics and a video rendition from a YouTube dude with shades, named Malvasio.

Welcome to a walk to the edge of town.

God Said No

I met God On the edge of town
Where the wind meets the stillness
Where the darkness meets the light
Where the ocean meets the sky
Where the desert meets the rain
Where the earth meets the heavens
On the edge of town
I met God

I asked God
Do one thing for me
Send me back in time, send me to Seattle
Let me go find Kurt Cobain
Take away his gun, take away his bullets
Talk to him, make him wanna live
Tell him how we love him, help him see his glory
God Said No

If I sent you back
If you really found him
You would only ask him
If he could help you get a deal
If he knows a lawyer, if he can help you
God Said No

I asked God
Do one thing for me
Send me back in time, send me to Berlin
Let me find the one they call Hitler
I will stalk him, I will bring him down
I will bring along a powerful gun, loaded with bullets
Obliterate his memory

God Said No
If I sent you back
You would get caught up in theory and discussion
You would let your fears delay and distract you
You would make friends, you would take a lover
God Said No

I asked God
Do one thing for me
Send me back in time, send me to Jerusalem
Let me go, let me go find Jesus
Let me save his life as they try to kill him
Let me take him down, down from the cross
Take the iron from his body, try to heal his wounds
God Said No

If I let you go
If you really found him
Walking with the cross you would stare
Your tongue no longer working,
Eyes no longer seeing
Ears no longer hearing

God said Time
Time belongs to me
Time's my secret weapon
My final advantage
God turned away
From the edge of town
I knew I was beaten
And that now was all I had

God Said No

For more Songs About All of Us click:

Susan Werner's Heaven So Small

Sting's Fragile

Two Poems That Will Stop You In Your Religious Tracks

~ by Samir Selmanovic

April is National Poetry Month. Here are two poems of war I recently came across (thank you Robert Darken for “Revenge” and Erica Wright for “The Diameter of the Bomb”). Read them and be prepared to carry them inside of you for weeks to come.  These are about you and me, no matter what our religion, race, or nationality. We fall within the diameter of every bomb and we all find solace in suffering of our enemies. And we have a say about the wars raging close and far away. No war is ever merely their war.

THE DIAMETER OF THE BOMB

(by Yehuda Amichai (1924-2000),
translated from Hebrew by Yehuda Amichai and Ted Hughes,
Selected Poems edited by Ted Hughes and Daniel Weissbort)

The diameter of the bomb was thirty centimeters
and the diameter of its
effective range –
about seven meters.
And in it four dead and eleven wounded.
And around them in a greater circle
of pain and time are scattered
two hospitals and one cemetery.
But the young woman who was
buried where she came from
over a hundred kilometers away
enlarges the circle greatly.
And the lone man who weeps over her death
in a far corner of a distant country
includes the whole world in the circle.
And I won’t speak at all about the crying of orphans
that reaches to the seat of God
and from there onward, making
the circle without end and without God.

                REVENGE

                (Nazareth, April 15, 2006,
                by Taha Muhammad Ali,
                translated from Arabic by Peter Cole,
                Yahya Hijazi, and Gabriel Levin)

                At times ... I wish
                I could meet in a duel
                the man who killed my father
                and razed our home,
                expelling me
                into
                a narrow country.
                And if he killed me,
                I’d rest at last,
                and if I were ready—
                I would take my revenge!

                *

                But if it came to light,
                when my rival appeared,
                that he had a mother
                waiting for him,
                or a father who’d put
                his right hand over
                the heart’s place in his chest
                whenever his son was late
                even by just a quarter-hour
                for a meeting they’d set—
                then I would not kill him,
                even if I could.

                *

                Likewise ... I
                would not murder him
                if it were soon made clear
                that he had a brother or sisters
                who loved him and constantly longed to see him.
                Or if he had a wife to greet him
                and children who
                couldn’t bear his absence
                and whom his gifts would thrill.
                Or if he had
                friends or companions,
                neighbors he knew
                or allies from prison
                or a hospital room,
                or classmates from his school …
                asking about him
                and sending him regards.

                *

                But if he turned
                out to be on his own—
                cut off like a branch from a tree—
                without a mother or father,
                with neither a brother nor sister,
                wifeless, without a child,
                and without kin or neighbors or friends,
                colleagues or companions,
                then I’d add not a thing to his pain
                within that aloneness—
                not the torment of death,
                and not the sorrow of passing away.
                Instead I’d be content
                to ignore him when I passed him by
                on the street—as I
                convinced myself
                that paying him no attention
                in itself was a kind of revenge.

Good Atheism, Bad Atheism

~ by Samir Selmanovic

Even though there haven’t been any new arguments against the existence of God since late 18th century, atheism is hot again. The enlightenment—a powerful movement in recent centuries that helped us question superstitious stories told by our grandmother as well as theology taught by respected university professors—has triumphed. One glance at the Google News page makes this abundantly clear. Religion is not in charge of the world anymore.

However, spurred by fear of religious fundamentalism, new atheists want to go further than their forefathers. Instead of arguing about the existence of God, they are fighting against the existence of religion itself, calling humanity to brace for an apocalyptic showdown between faith and reason. 

Religion does deserve to be challenged. “Deserves” has two meanings. First, religion deserves the pain of criticism and correction because of its failures to live up to its own ideals. Second, religion deserves the blessing of criticism and correction because it has often been a precious catalyst for justice, peace and beauty in the world. Recent challenges should therefore be welcome by religious people as a chance to see, to grieve, to repent, and then with renewed wisdom act for the common good.

Atheism at its best is crucial in this process of religious renewal. With its own set of beliefs, constructive atheism—often described as humanism—sees God as a human creation and not vice versa. It therefore locates the mystery of life in this world, this matter, this humanity, as the only one we have. It insists that all religion must land on the ground where we humans actually live. Religion must learn to live on earth. If religion is not valuable on earth, it is not valuable at all.

Constructive humanism’s contribution to our life together on this planet is its insistence that every religion ought to embrace, not just its adherents, but the whole planet as their ethical community. In our newly small planet, this is not a matter of humility or virtue any more, but of survival. In this way, these atheists are like the prophets of the Hebrew Bible, calling people out of their hypocrisy toward better faith and a better world.

However, attacks that fight against all religion, instead of bad religion, are bad atheism. It reinforces the suspicion of people who cling to the status quo in religion that atheists are on a power trip of their own, on a mission to strip the world of mystery, beauty and spirit—getting rid of anything and everything that humans cannot understand, control or subjugate.

The problem with anti-religionist atheism is not that it questions the existence or character of God. It is problematic because it embodies a contempt for any faith at all—any belief or practice toward creating value and meaning for ourselves. In a recent article in the Los Angeles Times, Lee Siegel writes,

“The leap of faith is really a very ordinary operation. We take it every time we fall in love, expect kindness from someone, impulsively sacrifice some little piece of our self-interest. After all, you cannot prove the existence of truth, beauty, goodness and decency; you cannot prove the dignity of being human, or your obligation to treat people as ends and not just as means. You take a gamble on the existence of these inestimable things. For that reason, when you lay scientific, logical and empirical siege to the leap of faith at the core of the religious impulse, you are not just attacking faith in God. You are attacking the act of faith itself, faith in anything that can’t be proved. But it just so happens that the qualities that make life rich, joyful and humane cannot be proved.”

Atheistic fundamentalism is a dogmatic expression of a worldview equally capable of destroying humanity with zeal and effectiveness as any fundamentalist religion. Shutting out the spiritual, mystical, metaphorical and transcendent, atheistic fundamentalism resorts to cleaning up the world of those who disagree and creating a naked public square, devoid of any options but its own.

While philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche rightfully observed that “Every truth is a tool in the hands of those in power,” atheistic fundamentalists have come to an irrational belief that they are an exception as they are trying to sell their ideas to those to whom they so openly condescend. What can be a greater power trip than believing everyone is on a power trip except oneself? Instead of promoting a secularization that fosters religious pluralism, these atheists impose secularism—a closed worldview, devoid of the windows and doors of self-doubt and hope.

To the end of his life, Sigmund Freud was an uncompromising atheist, describing belief in God in his book The Future of an Illusion as a “collective neurosis.” But his last book was titled Moses and Monotheism, in which he suggested a surprising view about religion, recognizing the poetry and promise of religion. He argued that Judaism and other expressions of monotheism helped free humanity from bondage to the immediate, empirical world, opening up fresh and renewing possibilities for human spirit and practice. He argued that people who can worship what is presented in symbolic terms, practice the ultimate exploration of the invisible inner life. For Freud, faith in God opened a gift of inwardness and imagination.

Both faith and doubt are opposites of certainty and therefore part of the same whole that refuses to see only the obvious. To end religion, would be to end imagination.

The stingy polemics of religionists who defend religion at all costs on one side and anti-religionists on the other seem like arguments fought in an attempt to justify closing one’s ears to hearing the Other and sharing the planet with others. Both of their identities depend on a divided world. Instead of leading us to generosity and great hope toward an unknown future, and instead of enlightening and inspiring us, religionists and anti-religionists are moving us into a new dark age, both using God to bring an end to imagination.

People will not stop looking into the past and mining religion for its spiritual treasures and hard-learned historical lessons. And they will not stop organizing themselves into new kinds of religious communities. For we have learned from human history that religion does not have to be the opium, but can be the poetry of the people.

(from Signs of the Times, Australia, March 2008, adapted by the author)

"I don't know"

~ by Nathan Brown, author, Editor (Signs of the Times, Australia / New Zealand)

“One of my main efforts as a teacher has been to train people to say those (apparently difficult) words ‘we don’t know,’” commented Christian writer and long-time tutor at Oxford University, C S Lewis. Those “apparently difficult” words don’t come easily to any of us—and perhaps they are even more difficult in the mouths of people of conviction, whether religious or not.

But to admit “I don’t know” is an important spiritual discipline that we need to practice, precisely because it does not come easily. “You think that everyone should agree with your perfect knowledge,” wrote the Apostle Paul in the Bible. “While knowledge may make us feel important, it is love that really builds up … Anyone who claims to know all the answers doesn’t really know very much” (1 Cor 8:1, 2).

To some, this might seem a denial of certainty or hope. But confessing “I don’t know” does not mean we know nothing. Admitting our imperfect knowledge, our fuzzy understanding and our stuttering explanations means we do not have to force our limited knowledge and understandings to answer questions much larger than those for which they are fitted. It is an expression of intellectual, faith-filled honesty and humility that opens us to fresh possibilities.

As Paul suggests, the more we learn, the more we discover we don’t know. But this should not be grounds for either a loss of faith, or discouragement and despair. The vastness and wonder of the world and ways of God are our greatest evidence of who we believe God to be. A God merely like us, understandable by us, managed by us, is ultimately of little use to us. Instead of roadblocks to faith, the challenges of explaining God are the starting points for contemplation.

Drawing on the Jewish tradition of exploring God by intense study of the Scriptures, Rob Bell points out that “the rabbis even say a specific blessing when they don’t understand a portion of the text. When it eludes them, when it makes no sense, they say a word of thanks to God because of the blessing that will be theirs someday. ‘Thank you, God, that at some point in the future, the lights are going to come on for me.'" By doing so, they assume that what they do not know or understand is better than they could guess at or imagine and so are content—for the time being—to trust the goodness of the God they seek.

Of course, such an attitude also has practical significance.  One of the greatest challenges of reaching out to those who are hurting and sorrowing around us is our assumption that we need to be able to answer their inevitable questions. That frightens us—we might be exposed as something less than the confident person of faith we wish we were. But when we are comfortable to say “I don’t know,” we can be simply human together, sharing their pain and grief—becoming agents of hope and healing to them by our presence and openness.

When we recognize that we are able to live by faith, even amid the questions we might try to suppress within ourselves, we realize that others can also live with, learn from and even appreciate our uncertainties. Freed from our assumptions that we have to have it all “nailed down” and “together” as a complete package of faith products to market to those around us, we can be more healthily comfortable in our faith and our faithful interactions with others.

Sometimes, “I don’t know” is the best, most satisfying and honest answer to many of our questions. Indeed, this might be the secret to sustainable faith in a God we will always struggle to comprehend.

About God (part 3): The Problem of Joy

~ by Nathan Brown, author, Editor (Signs of the Times, Australia / New Zealand)

One of the most common objections to faith in God is what people often refer to as the problem of pain. The question is how could pain exist–and particularly how can apparently good people suffer it–in a world ruled by a supposedly good, loving, and all-powerful God. Because pain obviously exists, therefore it is impossible to believe in the God asserted by Christians, Jews, or Muslims. It is a vexing question, and many writers have sought to defend religion by meeting the question head on--with varying degrees of success.

However, those who want to disprove, discount, or discard God themselves face a problem possibly even more difficult to explain. It involves the good things in life--the joy and the beauty. Rather than asking “Why do bad things happen to good people?” (by which we probably mean us), we can just as legitimately ponder “Why do good things happen to bad people?” (which can also refer to us). Countless instances of inexplicable joy, beauty, and variety surround us. The world would be much simpler and would conceivably operate just as well without all of them.

For example, rather than the 850 species of birds in Australia (as listed in the Field Guide to Australian Birds), a half dozen generic species of birds would surely suffice. Similarly, the variety of colors, aromas, and tastes found in a selection of fruit or vegetables might seem unnecessary in practical terms. If we only pause to observe, we will find an astounding range of trees, fish, insects, rocks, and almost any other category we might choose. Or the world could easily be black and white, and we–not knowing any better–would get along quite satisfactorily. After all, some animals such as cats do not see color at all, and they do fine. There often seem no functional or practical reasons for so much of the beauty and sources of joy surrounding us in our everyday lives. And if we try to explain the world without God, then we also have to account for the abundance and even inefficiency of beauty.

Yes, both the philosophical and experiential problems of pain continue to persist—as well as the issue of why we find beauty even in a world filled with so much suffering.  Speaking of the natural world, C. S. Lewis, a Christian writer, asks: “How can it be so beautiful and also so cruel, wasteful and futile?” However, even the apparent futility of so much of the natural world itself raises the question of the temporary beauty. For example, why does an insect living for less than 24 hours have such delicate and finely detailed wings?

The difference is how we see it. As poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning puts it:

Earth’s crammed with heaven,
and every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
the rest sit around it and pluck blackberries.

Creator of the hidden colors in coral reefs, the fragile wings of butterflies, and the spectacular glory of the sunset, He is a God of both endless repetition and endless variety, but above all a God of endless beauty and joy.

Maybe the universe is not as silent and solemn as we often imagine:

“We are perhaps permitted tragedy as a sort of merciful comedy: because the frantic energy of divine things would knock us down like a drunken farce. We can take our own tears more lightly than we could take the tremendous levities of the angels. So we sit perhaps in a starry chamber of silence, while the laughter of the heavens is too loud for us to hear” (G. K. Chesterton).

(adapted from 7 Reasons Life Is Better with God by Nathan Brown, 2007)

Live Words: Defending God

There are always those who take it upon themselves to defend God, as if Ultimate Reality, as if sustaining frame of existence, were something weak and helpless. These people walk by a widow deformed by leprosy begging for a few paise, walk by children dressed in rags living in the street, and they think, "Business as usual." But if they perceive a slight against God, it is a different story. They faces go red, their chests heave mightily, they sputter angry words. The degree of their indignation is astonishing. Their resolve is frightening.

These people fail to realize that it is on the inside that God must be defended, not on the outside. They should direct their anger at themselves. For evil in the open is but evil from within that has been let out. The main battlefield for good is not the open ground of the public arena but the small clearing of each heart. Meanwhile, the lot of widows and homeless children is very hard, and it is to their defence, not God's, that the self-righteous should rush.

                                                                        ~by Yann Martel

Less Anti-theism, More Humanism

~ Greg Epstein serves as the Humanist Chaplain of Harvard University. He recently agreed to write his first book, Good Without God, for William Morrow, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. Epstein was the primary organizer of “The New Humanism,” an international conference in honor of the 30th Humanist Chaplaincy of Harvard University, which drew one of the largest and most diverse audiences of any Humanist gathering in North American history. He blogs for Newsweek magazine and The Washington Post, and his work as a Humanist rabbi and Chaplain has been featured by National Public Radio, BBC Radio, Newsweek, The Boston Globe, The Jewish Daily Forward, and more. 

Endorsement of Faith House Manhattan:

"Faith House Manhattan is a really intriguing idea, and quite possibly a necessary one. I would encourage my fellow Humanists, atheists, agnostics and the non-religious to check it out, and to consider getting involved. Samir Selmanovic should be commended for reaching out earnestly, in respect and friendship, to our community. We secularists and freethinkers should do the same to him and to theistically-oriented Christians, Muslims, Jews and other religious people everywhere. Global warming doesn’t care what we believe or disbelieve about a god, and that’s just one of the many dangers that may doom us if we can’t figure out how to work together and care about one another despite differences. I’m hopeful this project can help build common ground and enable us to learn from one another in New York City and beyond."

Following post is adapted for Faith House by Greg Epstein, originally posted on On Faith, an online conversation about religion facilitated by Newsweek editor Jon Meacham and Washington Post journalist Sally Quinn.

Christopher Hitchens, author of the bestselling book God Is Not Great writes that "Religion is violent, irrational, intolerant, allied to racism and tribalism and bigotry, invested in ignorance and hostile to free inquiry, contemptuous of women and coercive toward children."

In this quote, Sally and Jon identify a classic example of the way in which Christopher Hitchens’s approach to religion goes far beyond atheism and is really better understood as anti-theism.

While atheism is the lack of belief in any god, anti-theism means actively seeking out the worst aspects of faith in god and portraying them as representative of all religion. Anti-theism seeks to shame and embarrass people away from religion, browbeating them about the stupidity of belief in a bellicose god.

Anti-theists are often brilliant scientific thinkers. The ones I know tend to be passionately ethical in their personal lives. And as in the case of Hitchens, they can be ferociously eloquent. So why hasn’t anti-theism ever gained any real political or social power?

In most people’s minds, “religion” does not just stand merely for belief in an unseen, all-seeing deity with a baritone voice and a flowing beard. It stands for the things we hold most dear: family, tradition, and community. Memories of lost loved ones and consolation in the face of death. The organized pursuit of social justice. Not to mention music, art, architecture, and I could go on and on.

These things are all good. If you take a rhetorical blowtorch to religion without acknowledging the way it provides them, you get precisely what we have today: a nation and world where despite all our scientific knowledge, 80 to 90 percent of people say they are religious.

Now let me be perfectly clear about myself. I have zero belief in god, gods, goddesses, or any other manner of supernatural spirits. I affirm that there is one and only one world: this natural world. As far as any human being will ever know we get only one life, from womb to tomb.

My conviction that this life is all I have, however, is precisely why I don’t want to spend my days focused on the worst in religion. I prefer seeking the best in each of us. I am not an antitheist, and not simply an atheist, but a Humanist.

Humanism is the non-religious pursuit of all that is best in human life. It is based on reason, compassion, and creativity, and promotes loving and ethical connections with family, community, all human beings, and the natural world surrounding us. It is a progressive lifestance that, without supernaturalism, affirms our ability and responsibility to lead ethical lives of personal fulfillment, aspiring to the greater good of humanity.

Simply put, Humanism is being good and living well without god. And that is no small matter, because it is hard to live a good life in this world regardless of what you believe. We human beings are all so imperfect—we are hurt so easily and too quick to hurt others. We get sick and die just when it is least fair and most painful.

Ultimately, we are social animals. We need each other. Our lives are best when we take part in an ethical community that extends far beyond ourselves; for thousands of years, religion has been the best human institution at providing that community. So if all we stand for is anti-theism, we will get nowhere, even though Hitchens is right -- partially -- about the evil religion can do.

Today, the billion of us around the world who are not religious can and must join together to create a humanistic alternative to religion. And let us do so while honoring the good in those of our religious sisters and brothers who are trying to live well according to a belief system we cannot share.

For a Humanist, it is not enough to simply rage, rage against the dying of the enlightenment. Let us get involved in Humanism and make this world, though it will never be perfect, a better place.

Links to explore:

The New Humanism
American Humanist Association
Institute for Humanist Studies
International Humanist and Ethical Union

While atheism is the lack of belief in any god, anti-theism means actively seeking out the worst aspects of faith in god and portraying them as representative of all religion. Anti-theism seeks to shame and embarrass people away from religion, browbeating them about the stupidity of belief in a bellicose god.

Anti-theists are often brilliant scientific thinkers. The ones I know tend to be passionately ethical in their personal lives. And as in the case of Hitchens, they can be ferociously eloquent. So why hasn’t anti-theism ever gained any real political or social power?

In most people’s minds, “religion” does not just stand merely for belief in an unseen, all-seeing deity with a baritone voice and a flowing beard. It stands for the things we hold most dear: family, tradition, and community. Memories of lost loved ones and consolation in the face of death. The organized pursuit of social justice. Not to mention music, art, architecture, and I could go on and on.

Walking with an Atheist

~ by Titus Müller, born 1977 in Leipzig, Germany, and studied Literature and Medieval History in Berlin. He published his first novel at age 24. The sixth—The Mystery—was published this year. His books have won literary awards and together sold more than 250,000 copies. Titus Mueller is a Seventh-day Adventist Christian who lives in Germany. More information at the Author's Website (sorry, German only).

Recently, I was invited to a science fiction conference in Germany, the annual meeting of the readers of “Perry Rhodan,” one of the world’s most ubiquitous science fiction series. Materialistic science fiction portrays the future as technically and morally advanced (“Star Trek” is an example for this way of thinking), therefore depicting humanity as self-sufficient and in no need for God. On the other hand, the darker wing of science fiction asks the question: Can we trust our senses? In works like The Matrix, for example, the information we receive from our five senses is an illusion created by machines that have spun out of human control and are using humanity as an energy supply system. 

I was speaking to this audience of atheists on the topic the host had given me: “God in Science Fiction.” I had written a science fiction novel for the “Perry Rhodan” series—the first since 1963 in which someone prayed to God and believed in him. For this, a Christian publishing house awarded me with the C.S. Lewis Prize, including the opportunity to spend 40 days on the Isle of Wight. I had received hundreds of reader’s letters after that book was published. Half of them hated my novel; the other half loved it. Now the science fiction lovers wanted to know what my thoughts on God really were. 

After I gave my speech to the science fiction fans, some of them furiously attacked me, saying that the belief in God is nothing but weakness, originating from fear. A Roman Catholic priest who was in the audience tried to calm them down by saying things like: “God is not a separate being, he is in every one of us, he is what happens when we do an unselfish act.” I began to sweat.

After offering a silent prayer, I took a step forward and said: “I don’t know whether I am right in what I believe. Maybe I have to learn that what I believe is in fact wrong. Maybe I will come to different conclusions later in life. But right now, I firmly believe that God is not only in each one of us, but that he is a being of himself, an alien. You as science fiction readers will understand that thought. He is not from here, not from earth. I believe he listens when I think, feel, or talk to him. He is pure wisdom. He is smarter than all of humankind put together.”

This changed everything. My most aggressive critic talked to me afterwards: “I am the one who wrote the devastating review on your book. I didn’t know you are a seeker. I thought you think you already know everything. I didn’t know you are still open and on the way. Thank you for being sympathetic to everyone who seeks. I hadn’t thought that one can be a believer and a seeker.”

When I heard Samir speak in Germany last week I was reminded of this atheist brother who was seeking along with me. He would have liked to hear what Samir had to say. Christians who aren’t seekers anymore pretend to know all about God—which only makes God smaller and more distant. And at the same time, they turn away other seekers on the journey, forfeiting a chance to give and receive. I am glad to learn—from Samir and others—to keep going on my way to God in company with all who seek.

Interview with an Arab Atheist

~ by Esra'a Bahrain (Mideast Youth)

I’m interviewing an Arab atheist from Kuwait: Sara Sultan.  I will first make it clear that I’m happily a Muslim, and am in no way promoting atheism by conducting these interviews. Young atheists in the Arab world are extremely frowned upon and thus hardly ever given a voice, and if we really want to represent all kinds of people then we should include the voices of those we disagree with as well.

Q: Firstly, why did you agree to do this interview? Aren’t you scared of voicing such controversial opinions?
A: I agreed to do this interview because I have the interest in sharing my thoughts and beliefs with you. Why should I be scared? I have a right to express my opinions and I have no fear from doing so. People try to bully us into believing things… into being part of a “larger mass.” They kick us into buying anything from political opinions to religious beliefs. I refuse to be a product of such attempts at misleading us. They can call me what they want, at the end of the day I’m just an independent woman with a firm opinion.

Q: When did you become an atheist?

About God (part 2): The Prayer Flower

~ by Nathan Brown, author, Editor (Signs of the Times, Australia / New Zealand)

Prayer is a lot like radio broadcasting. We sit alone—perhaps in a small room—and talk to the wall in the hope that someone, somewhere, is listening. Through a process and technology we barely understand we try to reach out to the unseen listener. Although we can prepare beforehand for the communication, as often as not it might be just as well to make it up as we go along. Perhaps sometimes the best arises from spontaneity. But on other occasions the progress is awkward, and we cannot even begin to imagine what might lie beyond the blank walls enclosing us.

Then, every so often, we receive a response, faint though it might be. A voice comes back--a message of encouragement or even criticism. The important thing is that it briefly reassures us that someone is out there. But that someone—or Someone—is all-important.

It is perhaps most difficult to reach beyond our tiny bare-walled rooms, to hope for anything or Anyone beyond them, during times of suffering and anguish. Then, even our prayers—our attempts to communicate with the “outside”—can add to our pain. Reflecting on his own experience of sorrow, C. S. Lewis comments: “And one prays; but mainly such prayers as are themselves a form of anguish” (Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer). When our prayers just seem to bounce back to us from the surrounding walls, the room feels smaller still and the ricocheting pleas wound us further.

While in some ways suffering is easier for people of faith—having a hope and strength beyond themselves—in other ways belief makes it more complicated and difficult. The problem of pain is also a problem of faith—but only for those who already believe. “The ‘hiddenness’ of God perhaps presses most painfully on those who are in another way nearest to God” (ibid.). For those of us who live in the expectancy of His presence and goodness, God’s apparent absence and silence compound our pain and fear.

And there come moments when we are simply unable to believe, when a primitive nothingness seems our only visible option. Even then, by sheer force of will or habit we still cry out, in the style of Job, David’s anguished psalms, and Jeremiah’s lamentations, and in some incredible way our cry of hopelessness is still a prayer.

Robert McCrum was a successful London publishing executive who suffered a severe stroke at just 40 years of age. Despite his avowed atheism, he found himself reaching out to something in his periods of greatest desperation. “I pray to a God I don’t believe in. But I had an absurd thought the other day, that the thing about God is that even if you don’t believe in him, he listens to you” (McCrum, My Year Off).

It’s a huge thought. Even during the moments when we are so hurt, grief-stricken, or frightened that we cannot see any way to reach out to God, He still hears those cries—and somehow, in His humility and graciousness, they can count as prayers. Maybe that’s part of God’s promise that “I will answer them before they even call to me” (Isa. 65:24). Before we are able to summon the willpower, the focus, the right words, or whatever we think we might need to pray “properly,” God is already answering. In prayer, it seems, His readiness to listen is infinitely more important than our readiness to pray.

In his novel Lilith George MacDonald has one of his characters discover a tiny flower he is unable to identify. The character asks his traveling companion about the mysterious bloom. The raven tells him it is a unique prayer-flower: “Not one prayer-flower is ever quite like another.” Its beauty, form, color, and scent overwhelm the story character. “I did see that the flower was different from any flower I had ever seen before,” he reflects. “Therefore I knew I must be seeing a shadow of the prayer in it; and a great awe came over me to think of the heart listening to the flower.”

That heart is the heart of God. The heartbeat that sustains the universe pauses to hear our stumbling, desperate, and even doubting cries.

(adapted from 7 Reasons Life Is Better with God by Nathan Brown, 2007)

About God (part1): The Big Bet?

~ by Nathan Brown, author, Editor (Signs of the Times, Australia / New Zealand)

In Pascal’s Pensees the seventeenth-century French mathematician and philosopher proposed a suitably mathematical approach to faith. In a formulation that has come to be known as Pascal’s wager he suggests we can look at the truth of the God of Christianity as a game of chance. When it comes down to it, he argues, “either God is or He is not.” The difficulty is that reason alone cannot get us beyond this point. We cannot argue conclusively either His existence or nonexistence. However, Pascal maintains it is an unavoidable choice--it is simply a matter of which way to choose. Because of its inevitability, “your reason is no more affronted by choosing one rather than the other,” he writes–both are equally legitimate options.

Pascal’s solution is to look at what is to be won and lost in the cosmic wager he proposes: “If you win you win everything, if you lose you lose nothing.” In other words, if God exists as we believe, we receive eternal life and all the promises of the Bible, and if He does not exist, we die. While that is the end of the story for us, it is what would have happened anyway. According to Pascal, while the odds of God existing may be only one in an infinite number of possibilities, we risk nothing by betting that way–and have everything to gain.

Christians have adopted and repeated the argument in a variety of forms since he first published Pensees in the 1660s. But the question remains whether his wager constitutes sufficient justification of and foundation for a credible belief in God. Doubt still nags us. As William James, an American philosopher writing in the 1890s, suggested, “you probably feel that when religious faith expresses itself thus, in the language of the gaming table, it is put to its last trumps” (The Will to Believe).

It seems that even Paul, writing in the New Testament, was uncomfortable with arguments along the lines of Pascal’s. “If Christ has not been raised [the central tenet of Christian faith], our preaching is useless and so is your faith. … If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all men” (1 Cor. 15:14-19, NIV). For Paul, it is not good enough to conclude that if it is not true, we have not lost anything. The truth or otherwise of God and the claims of Christianity are of utmost importance.

Another problem James identifies in Pascal’s proposition is that we can equally apply it to any other formulation of belief–Hindu, Buddhist, Muslim, or whatever promise of eternal reward. Thus it can only be a clinching argument for a Christian God when the prospective believer has a preexisting tendency toward such a belief.

So we find ourselves back at the uncertain position in which we began, unable to argue our way forward. However, it does not have to be the end of our search for God or faith. “In truths dependent on our personal action, then, faith based on desire is certainly a lawful and possibly an indispensable thing” (James, The Will to Believe). Thankfully, the possibility of faith in God does not depend upon our ability to argue philosophy.

James argues for a freedom to choose: “a rule of thinking which would absolutely prevent me from acknowledging certain kinds of truth if those kinds of truth were really there would be an irrational rule” (ibid.). In addition, it is not irrational to believe in that for which rationality can provide no answers. Even then, we find evidence of God in our lives, in the world around us, and in history–“too much to deny and too little to be sure” (Pascal)–and it is always a matter of choice. But we respond not as a gambler but as a pilgrim on a journey toward truth.

(adapted from 7 Reasons Life Is Better with God by Nathan Brown, 2007)

Atheism At Its Best

~ by Samir Selmanovic

Atheistic Fundamentalism is atheism at its worst, a dogmatic expression of a worldview equally capable of destroying humanity with zeal and effectiveness as any fundamentalist religion. Shutting out the spiritual, mystical, metaphorical, and transcendent, atheistic fundamentalism resorts to cleaning up the world of those who disagree with it and creating a naked public square, devoid of any options but its own.

Atheism at its best is an expression of faith in humanity, even faith in religious humanity, first by asking the difficult but legitimate questions that religious people are prone to dismiss. And then by dedication to a kind of believing that is committed to denying the existence of God until a picture of “a God worth believing in” emerges. Atheism at its best is a rebellion against the god offered in the market of religions, a demand that God ought to be what God should be, if God is in fact there at all. Atheism at its best grabs us by our collars and throws us on the ground, demanding to see the righteousness we talk about, forcing us to dig deeper and harder into the best of our own religions. Atheism at its best is hanging on to the hope that our religions have not grasped reality adequately, and that there must be more to the mystery, beauty, and justice of life than what we have offered.

Judaism, Christianity, and Islam need such atheists. They have a prophetic ministry to us. For the option of believing that God is not there is always available to the world. And it sometimes makes more sense than God we are conveying to the world.

James Kavanugh is a Catholic priest, a poet and a writer.  His poem entitled My Easy God is Gone is one of the great examples of atheism at its best.  If you are a believer, I think this poem will hurt you.  And somehow help you heal. 

Milorad Kojic, a genetic scientist from Manhattan, New York, sent it to me after our conversation about "God with eyes too blue to understand" (Thank you Milo!).

My Easy God is Gone

I have lost my easy God - the one whose name
I knew since childhood.
I knew his temper, his sullen outrage,
his ritual forgiveness.
I knew the strength of his arm, the sound
of his insistent voice.
His beard bristling, his lips full and red
with moisture at the moustache,
His eyes clear and piercing, too blue
to understand all,
His face too unwrinkled to feel my
child's pain.
He was a good God - so he told me -
a long suffering and manageable one.
I knelt at his feet and kissed them.
I felt the smooth countenance of his forgiveness.

I never told him how he frightened me,
How he followed me as a child,
When I played with friends or begged
for candy on Halloween.
He was a predictable God, I was the
unpredictable one.
He was unchanging, omnipotent, all-seeing,
I was volatile and helpless.

He taught me to thank him for the concern
which gave me no chance to breathe,
For the love which demanded only love in
return - and obedience.
He made pain sensible and patience possible
and the future foreseeable.
He, the mysterious, took all mystery away,
corroded my imagination,
Controlled the stars and would not let
them speak for themselves.

Now he haunts me seldom:  some fierce
umbilical is broken,
I live with my own fragile hopes and
sudden rising despair.
Now I do not weep for my sins; I have
learned to love them.
And to know that they are the wounds that
make love real.
His face alludes me; his voice, with all
its pity, does not ring in my ear.
His maxims memorized in boyhood do not
make fruitless and pointless my experience.
I walk alone, but not so terrified as when
he held my hand.

I do not splash in the blood of his son
nor hear the crunch of nails or thorns
piercing protesting flesh.
I am a boy again - I whose boyhood was
turned to manhood in a brutal myth.
Now wine is only wine with drops that do
not taste of blood.
The bread I eat has too much pride for transubstantiation,
I, too - and together the bread and I embrace,
Each grateful to be what we are, each loving
from our own reality.
Now the bread is warm in my mouth and
I am warm in its mouth as well.

Now my easy God is gone - he knew too
much to be real,
He talked too much to listen, he knew
my words before I spoke.
But I knew his answers as well - computerized
and turned to dogma.
His stamp was on my soul, his law locked
cross-like on my heart,
His imperatives tattooed on my breast, his
aloofness canonized in ritual.

Now he is gone - my easy, stuffy God - God,
the father - master, the mother - whiner, the
Dull, whoring God who offered love bought
by an infant's fear.
Now the world is mine with all its pain and
warmth, with its every color and sound;
The setting sun is my priest with the ocean for it's alter.
The rising sun redeems me with rolling
waves warmed in its arms.
A dog barks and I weep to be alive, a
cat studies me and my job is boundless.
I lie on the grass and boy-like, search the sky.
The clouds do not turn to angels, the winds
do not whisper of heaven or hell.

Perhaps I have no God - what does it matter?
I have beauty and joy and transcending loneliness,
I have the beginning of love - as beautiful as it
is feeble - as free as it is human.
I have the mountains that whisper secrets
held before men could speak,
I have the oceans that belches life on
the beach and caresses it in the sand,
I have a friend who smiles when he sees
me, who weeps when he hears my pain,
I have a future of wonder.
I have no past - the steps have disappeared
the wind has blown them away.

I stand in the Heavens and on earth, I
feel the breeze in my hair,
I can drink to the North Star and shout
on a bar stool,
I can feel the teeth of a hangover, the
job of laziness,
The flush of my own rudeness, the surge of
my own ineptitude.
And I can know my own gentleness as well
my wonder, my nobility.
I sense the call of creation, I feel its
swelling in my hands.
I can lust and love, eat and drink, sleep
and rise,
But my easy God is gone - and in his stead
The mystery of loneliness and love!

(source: The Recovery Emporium, © Copyright -  James Kavanaugh)