Why do we doubt?

A few years back, I picked up a copy of USA Today at a gas station in Pensacola, Florida.  I thumbed through the sports section first, as I normally do, but then a short snip-it caught my eye on the front page.  It stated that over the course of the last five or so years, the percentage of Americans that believed in God has dropped 10 percent.  I sat for a moment and thought about how sad that was, and all the many reasons why people have turned away from God.  Why do we continue to doubt God? 

The famous Methodist preacher Charles Allen wrote a book several years ago entitled Life More Abundant.  The first chapter is entitled “Why I Believe in God.”  Allen says that believing in God should be somewhat similar to the standard of guilt in a criminal case: innocent until proven guilty.  Instead of trying to “prove” that God exists, why is it that we don’t just believe until we find evidence otherwise? 

You say, “Well is a lack of evidence not enough?” and I say, “There is more than enough evidence for us to believe beyond a reasonable doubt.”  Who can say that any of us comes into this world as an atheist?   Coming to the conclusion that God does not exist is the systematic manifestation of human experiences, human reasoning, and arrogance, not simply an inherent thought that comes with being born into civilization.  We doubt because we have gravitated away from God, not because he has gravitated away from us.  We take the sum of our experiences and say, “Well God simply does not want to be a part of my life, or God doesn’t care for me, so therefore He must not exist.”  We offer, “God has no interaction in society and He has not made Himself known to humankind, so therefore He cannot be real.”

Human self-sufficiency and pride is the overarching enemy of faith in God.  Intellect and power, in our human perceptions, eliminates the need for God.  We say, “I can do this on my own—I don’t need any help.” And when we begin to achieve and accumulate income, we ask, “Where was God in all of this?  I did this myself.”  I believe that pride is the most damaging of all sins to the Christian faith, because it elevates our capacity to be totally self-sufficient.  We don’t feel the need to turn to God. 

Ultimately, I believe that doubt in the existence of God stems from three main reasons: 1) because we have no conscious dealings and no interaction with God, 2) because the circumstances of life—evil and suffering—have led us to the conclusion that if there is a God, then he doesn’t care, and 3) because we have no signs that God exists.  I would like to take each of these one at a time. 

First, we begin to doubt that God exists because we have no conscious dealings or interaction with Him.  “God hasn’t spoken to me,” we offer.  But I believe that God has spoken to us, and He wishes greatly to be in constant dialogue with us as we walk through the trials and tribulations of life.  Recently, I resurrected an old institution that has largely died out in the era of text messaging and email.  I began writing hand-written letters to several of my friends.  I have found tremendous value and joy in this exercise.  The importance of letter writing is this: as a letter is read, it becomes a one-way mode of communication. In essence, one who reads a letter must submit his attention to the words of the author for a little while without a response.  The words have more of a saturating effect in the lives of those who read it.  Of course, we may respond by writing letters of our own, but only after we have had time to read and reflect on the letter in its entirety.  I appreciate receiving letters, especially those that have been hand-written, because of the time and effort it takes to do it (unlike text messaging or email).  Letter writing has always been a very compelling evidentiary source of information for historical researchers and enthusiasts.  We learn much about the love of John Adams for his wife Abigail through his letters.  We understand Jefferson’s thoughts on the separation of church and state through his letter to Danbury Baptist Church.  We appreciate more greatly the beliefs of Ronald Reagan by studying his letters.  “How does this relate to God?” you ask.  Because God has written us the greatest love letter of all-time, the Bible.  Consider the time it took for the Bible to manifest itself before it could be “sent” to us.  The Bible has been written over thousands of years by many authors.  God has spoken to us, and he has spoken to us loudly and resolutely.  Not only has he spoken to us in tangible words, he has spoken to us by sending us a concrete example to this world of his divine nature and will through his son Jesus.  John chapter one says, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”  God speaks to us through his Word.  One author cleverly noted, “Jesus is all that God wanted to say to us.” 

Many people believe that God stopped speaking directly to mankind after Jesus came.  Indeed, it seems on the surface that the God of the Old Testament had more direct interaction with human beings than he does in today’s world.  But I believe that God continues to speak to us, and that our lives are very important to Him.  “How does he do this?” you might inquire.  I believe that God speaks to us through people, through our experiences, through prayer, and at times, audibly.  God uses pastors and other people to deliver to us his truth.  He uses our experiences to draw us closer to him.  He draws near to us when we pray.  And at times, his words can be audibly heard.  The question is, “Are our minds and hearts open to the messages that God is sending us?  Are we fully aware that God intends to have constant communication in our lives?”  No communication is effective unless the recipient is willing to receive the information.  We cannot interact with God if we keep hanging up the phone on him and throwing his letters in the trash.  We cannot hear him if we are not willing to engage him.  In short, we drown out the voice of God in our life, and as we continue to listen to the words of the secular world, the word of God becomes more foreign to us.  For those who may be doubting the existence of God, ask yourself this, “Have I listened to Him lately?  Have I opened his letters?  Have I attempted to communicate with Him?”  We doubt God because we have refused to respond to his constant communication, not because God has failed to interact with us. 

Secondly, we doubt God because of the circumstances of life.  We look at all of the heartache, the hurt, the suffering, and the anguish of our lives and conclude that God simply could not exist, because if He did, we would have better lives.  Nowhere in the Bible does God promise that life will be without tribulation.  In fact, he warns us of the converse of this notion.  He thoroughly warns us of the fact that there will be suffering and distress in life.  Most of the stories of the Bible are stories of overcoming extreme pain, loss, unbelief, murder, envy, spite, anger, lust, hatred, death, and turmoil.  If you think it’s bad, consider the lives of Job, David, Paul, and Jesus.  None of their lives were absent of suffering and hardship, and in fact, they suffered more than most of us could ever fathom.  Yet, they were able to endure, rejoice, and forgive through their trials and sufferings because their eyes were fixed on the wonderful nature of God.  They understood firmly that suffering will come, that suffering is a part of life, but there is purpose in suffering.  When we experience pain and suffering in our life, one of our first reactions is to say that God is punishing us for something we have done in our life.  “Why did you allow this to happen to me?” we beg.  Have we not considered that through this suffering that God is trying to teach us and prepare us for something that will one day comfort and benefit other people?  We are so very focused on how suffering applies to our life that we fail to see how our suffering can and will positively impact those around us.  This applies particularly when unexpected death occurs, or someone is stricken with a fatal disease.  Do we even consider that God is using these experiences for our benefit and for the benefit of those around us?  When suffering comes, lean on the words of Paul in Romans 8:28, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”  When our house burns down, we ask, “Where is God?”  But God has already sent the fire crew to rebuild us before we ever realize it.  When we weep, God weeps with us, and he knows that suffering is for our good and will ultimately draw us nearer to him.  In this, I do not mean to be trite; death and loss is a horrible thing.  But what I am trying to say is that we should focus on the overall plan.  Life is often like watching a movie.  When one of the main characters gets killed, we have to wait to see how the movie plays out in their absence.  God is constantly writing a good ending to our lives.  The circumstances that befall us can be tragic, yet God in his infinite wisdom has a plan for all of us.  He is there in the midst of that suffering, and he desperately wants to restore us and give us a life more abundant than we ever had before. 

Lastly, we doubt because we fail to see the signs that God exists.  Recently, I went to a church that I had never attended before.  As I was leaving, I took a wrong turn and ended up on a road that seemed to be going nowhere.  There were no signs to point me in the right direction, I just had to have faith that the roads would eventually lead to my destination.  While I was traveling down that road, I began to notice all of the wonderful little displays of nature that were largely untouched—trees, rocks, ravines, creeks, valleys, hills, leaves, moss, soil, minerals, dirt, straw, and brush—and as the sun was beaming in the distance, I thought about God.  I thought about how impossible it would be for the earth to simply form without the hand of the Creator.  I thought about all the subtle details of nature that we fail to appreciate every day—that God put that creek there, a rock here, allowed trees to grow, and painted the pretty pictures of the earth for us to enjoy and revere, his handiwork to admire. 

I think about love and emotion and feeling and I cannot but conclude that God created these things to help us to know that He exists.  We may be able to scientifically explain how nature works, but no scientist has ever been able to explain love.  God has given us nature and love and the complexities of the human body to point us to one immutable fact: that he created the world and all that is in it.  How can we possibly deny this?  How can we look at nature and the human body and unexplainable temperament of love and say to others that God does not exist? 

God has made himself known to us.  He has spoken to us.  He has provided for us.  There is really no cause for doubt that God exists.  Instead of asking, "Does God exist?" shouldn't we wonder why we are doubting in the first place?   

The Tragic Life of James Agee

A few years ago, a lawyer friend of mine from the Blackbelt gave me as a gift a book entitled The Collected Poems of James Agee.  Since I had never heard of Agee, in my ignorance I assumed that he was probably a local writer whose poetry anthology was the summation of his writings en toto.  I couldn't have been more wrong. Embarrasingly and because of this fact, I gave the anthology only casual glances-- reading a poem or two here and there-- while mostly letting it rest on my bookshelves for four years. 
Recently, the writings of this man and his life have crept back up into the forefront of my interest, and quite ironically, it aptly coincides with my intensifying intrigue into Alabama's Blackbelt.  About a week ago, I went to the Mountain Brook library to check out several books about the Blackbelt, and as I was perusing through several titles, I ran across a book called Let Us Now Praise Famous Men.  I had never heard of this title, and I wondered why it had anything to do with the state of Alabama, much less the Blackbelt.  I noticed that it had been written by James Agee.  "Who is this guy-- James Agee?" I thought to myself.  I quickly ran home to see if the names matched.  They did. 
John Hersey's introduction to the Let Us Now Praise Famous Men gives a short account of the life and writings of Agee.  Apparently, Hersey met Agee at a party for Time magazine writers in the fall of 1939.  Hersey writes, "He was at the heart of a constellation on the other side of the room, and he seemed to be doing all the talking.  There were rockets of laughter going up.  Someone told me the man was Jim Agee...No one else got many words in.  He talked with both his tongue and his hands. It seemed that for this person words had not only sound and meaning but also physical weight, volume, and shape, and to these qualities he tried, as he spoke, to give their full value with his long fingers and strong palms-- molding the clay of abstractions, arranging mental flowers, tightening difficult screws, caressing lusted-after erogenous zones, touching ideal chords on a ghost piano, and even, in moments of awe or vehemence, stretching his arms out and tilting the axis of the whole world." 
When I read Hersey's description of this enigmatic character, I was hooked.  I set out on my own little investigative journey into Agee's life.  As I became a pupil in AGEE 101, I firstly noticed how dichotomous his life truly was.  As a writer, Agee struggled tremendously with breaking free from the bonds that restrict artists in general, gaining freedom in our craft, i.e. "how to become what I wish I could when I can't."  Agee also struggled to find intimate, lasting relationships, having three wives by age forty-five.  He drank incessantly, smoked incessantly, warred with depression and inveterate thoughts of suicide.  Yet, Agee had a profound appreciation for the greatness and the limitless possibilities of humankind as bestowed upon us by our Creator.  His faith in Christ was a reverant one, certainly, but it almost seemed as though unendingly obstructed by Agee's own wrestlings with self-loathing and self-deprication. 
Agee was born in Knoxville, Tennessee in 1909.  The most tragic event of his life occurred when he was but six years old, when his father was killed in an automobile accident.  Agee was sent to a school for boys, St. Andrews, in nearby Sewanee, Tennessee, where he was mentored by one Father Flye, a priest who became somewhat of a father to Agee in the absence of his own father.  For the rest of Agee's life, he remained in correspondence with Father Flye, giving accounts of his life and his failings in often anguished tones.
Agee enrolled at Harvard and became president of the Harvard Advocate, a highly-esteemed literary magazine.  After graduation, he was fortunate, through a friend, to land a job at Fortune magazine in New York, working and writing on the fifty-second floor of the Chrysler building.  Agee struggled with deadlines and brevity, alcohol, and women.  He listened to classical music, specifically Beethoven's Ninth, with the sound turned up as loud as possible, immersing himself with every piercing decibel. 
Finally, in 1936, Agee got the break he needed.  He was assigned to a piece on Southern sharecroppers with photographer Walker Evans.  An ecstatic Agee and the talented Evans went to Greenville, Alabama to find suitable subjects.  There, they were fortunate enough to find several families of tenant farmers to take them in for several weeks to conduct interviews and take pictures of their impoverished way of life.  What started out as a story for a magazine turned into one of the most compelling stories ever written about the people of Alabama. 
Tragically, Agee died in a New York taxicab of a heart attack--a product of years of bodily abuse of alcohol and hard living--before he even saw modest success of any of his works.  Posthumously, Agee won the Pulitzer Prize for his autobiography A Death in the Family, and Let Us Now Praise Famous Men has been critically acclaimed as one of the best works of the twentieth century.

Morning in Marion

It is 7:15 a.m. in the Blackbelt, and it is not time yet for the little frenzied sounds that the city makes.  A restless and engaging bird is chirping from the bursting oak as I sit on the bench on the south end of the Perry County courthouse, built before anyone still alive can remember. 

I am enthralled by the effervescent purity of the morning as it makes its holy rising, marshaled in on the wings of the dawn.  The sun is shining like a gold ring from just above the courthouse roof, a dull but not overbearing luster.  Rising above me, like giant redwoods, are twin Corinthian columns, already the product of rot and spoil, yet still retaining the loveliness of a former beauty queen. 

Flowering plants and hedgerows, green with red tops, provide a calming disposition.  A flock of birds parade by without pomp or circumstance.  The sun hits the green grass in a disarming way, challenging each individual blade to reveal its radiance and the depths of its full color, brightened, exposed, and pure.  The smattered patches of dirt are disjointed from the green grass; rocks, sticks, minerals, grit, soil, and concrete fuse together in this gentle outlay.  The quieting rhythm of clay tile of on the entryway, alternating dark to light, dark to light, gives means of support under the towering façade, rising some forty or so feet to its north.   Brick by white painted brick, the inestimable handiwork of hundred year old masters, is still evident and palpable. 

An American flag is calmly blowing in the Southern wind; the birds are speaking more purposefully now, more resolutely and urgently, as if they can hear the coming flood of the city.  The humming of engines arrive like Roman legions in the distance, charging ahead in proud rhythms.  Guiltily, sadly, I rise and let the sounds of the city overtake me, as I long to hear the peace that tomorrow brings. 

Running on Empty

The other night as I was filling up my sixteen-gallon gas-guzzler of an automobile, I began to think about all the many ways we re-fuel in life.  I began to think about what we are putting into our minds to recharge us, bolster us, and give us energy to get us up and get us going every day. 

What if we viewed each morning-- each entire day-- as though we woke up with an empty tank yet a completely clean slate?  What types of fuel would you use to ramp up your wisdom?  Your knowledge? 

Have you ever considered how important it is to fill your mind with the high octane, penetrating truth of the Bible?  When is the last time that you pulled your vehicle up to this pump? 

It really is profound how our lives are suddenly transformed when we allow the truth of God to fill our tanks.  Life runs rather smoothly.  We don't have to worry about running out of gas, or gas prices going through the roof.  Jesus said, "I am the same yesterday, today, and forever."  All it takes is a little humility and openness each day to let God fill us with his overarching wisdom and understanding. 

Have you refueled today?

Something Worth Reading

What would you do if a madman wanted you to leave town?  Would you pack up your family and head out?  Worse, what if this madman went to church with you? 

The Devil in Pew Number Seven is a true story about a preacher who moved Sellerstown, North Carolina in 1969 to become pastor at Free Welcome Holiness Church.  He brought his wife and young daughter to the community to lead a small congregation of believers.  But he would soon learn that a man who attended services at the church would stop at virtually nothing to try to force them out of town. 

It began with late night phone calls and terrifying letters.  As the progressivity of the harassment unfolds, we cannot but plead with the pastor…why don’t you just leave town? 

The story is about the will of one man led by God versus the will of another led by hatred.  It is the story of courage and an unshakable resolve to do God’s will in the face of danger.  The Devil in Pew Number Seven was released on August 1. 

Still Making an Impact on Me

Basketball.  I have often wondered why I chose this particular medium to live out a great portion of my life.  Paradoxically, basketball for me has been the source of tremendous heartache and consummate happiness, as well as an outlet for the converging challenges of life and a battlefield of the mind.   This perpetual high-speed game has been the origin of a hundred rising suns and ten thousand desperate nights in my life. 

As a player, basketball was my chance to run and jump and enjoy the beautiful freedoms that life has to offer.  It was the playground that provided a group of men the opportunity to grind together, live together, share together, and suffer together in a communal environment with one goal in mind—victory.  Through basketball, I was able to feel the assuaging comfort of success and the callous reality of defeat.  It has furnished unending anguish and unrest, and extreme joy.  It defeated me more times than I choose to count, but yet I still made it my special game—the one that was closest to my heart. 

Most of my pleasant memories of the sport draw upon my days as a young boy at “Glen Clem’s Basketball Camp.”  Coach Clem was the head coach at Walker College, a privately-funded junior college in Jasper.  Clem stood about 6’5” and weighed over 250 lbs.  His skin was olive, and he had a thick black mat of course hair.  He wore plaid sportjackets and designer shoes and his nickname was Big Daddy.  Sure, there was a towering presence about him.  His most distinctive features were indisputably his large, bug eyes and echoing voice, like a thunderclap.  If Fred Flintstone could have been exemplified in a human being, Clem was it.

As my friend Matthew says, basketball coaches (unlike those of any other sport) have the most dominating and gregarious of all personalities.  Clem was no exception.  At Glen Clem’s camp, I witnessed firsthand the utter hilarity of this unique character.  He made basketball fun by utilizing wild and colorful terminology that I had never heard before.   He warned us not to wear “costume jewelry” while we were in camp, and swore that if we got out of line we’d be subjected to the lashings of his “black snake whip.”  He would often pick on longtime campers such as Kellen, who apparently was twelve years old but had been attending Clem’s camp for fourteen years.  He used downtime in camp to provide for our amusement his proverbial vaudeville act…shooting (and making) shots while he sat Indian-style at midcourt, hook-shots from thirty feet that drained the net, and many other offerings that split our sides and made us revere the Glen Clem circus. 

Still, he took the time to share with us little lessons of life, takeaways if you will, that stick with me to this day.  I call into question anything that gave me fonder memories of my boyhood than my time with Coach Clem.  He was the kind of coach that I wanted to be.  I could write an entire book about Clem, but for now we don’t have enough time.  What I will share with you is my proudest appreciation with the fact that I was able to share time with him and the further denotation of “coach” in the same exact office that he worked for thirty-seven years.  

Coach Clem passed away, suddenly, in 1996 in Gatlinburg, Tennessee.  To this day, he is still making a profound impact on my life.  I miss you greatly, coach, and I long to see you again one day if I'm fortunate enought to make it to heaven. 

Life Game

        I have watched and participated in many games in my life.  But today I wanted to talk to you about a game that cannot be seen.  This is a game of high stakes, swift consequences, and eternal results.  "Who are the participants?" you might ask.  Naturally, there are two teams competing in this game. 

        The first is the Black  Devils.  This team is coached by Satan himself.  The “players” on the team are his demons and the ungodly…murderers, slanderers, rapists, and idolators, cheaters, liars, and thieves. 

        The opposing team is the Crimson Crusaders.  This is God’s team.  God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit make up the entire coaching staff.  The players are Christians and the angels. 

        The conditions of the game are very rough, the terrain very difficult.  This game is played on a neutral battlefield, the earth.  There are no referees.  The weather conditions are often uncertain.  Sometimes, it will rain and the field gets sloppy.  Other times, the game takes place on a beautiful day.  But there is one thing for sure…the game never stops for inclement weather…it continues in perpetuity. 

        There are no halftimes, intermissions, timeouts, or breaks.  The spectators in the stands are all on the side of the Black Devils, for if you are a member of the Crimson Crusaders, you don’t sit in the stands…you play.  

        Both the Crimson Crusaders and the Black Devils have exquisite uniforms. The armor of the Crimson Crusaders includes:

                      Belt of Truth

                      Breastplate of righteousness

                      Shield of faith

                      Helmet of Salvation

                      Sword of the Spirit

                      Feet fitted with peace

They wear red to symbolize the blood of Jesus Christ, their savior.  They are heavily equipped by God, but sometimes it takes them a while to figure out how to properly use their uniform. 

The Black Devils’ armor includes the

                                     

Belt of Lies

                      Breastplate of evil  

                      Shield of doubt

                      Helmet of destruction

                      Sword of the Flesh

                      Feet fitted with fire

The Ball is the souls of the spectators.  When the Crimson Crusaders score, God always gets a celebration penalty.   When the Black Devils score, the pyrotechnics in Hell light up the underworld. 

Both teams are strategic in their gameplans. 

The Black Devils use any means necessary to confuse, frustrate, anger, disrupt, or thwart the Crimson Crusaders' players or the coach’s plan.  Satan runs trick plays, takes cheap shots, and uses any means necessary to win.  He doesn’t value sportsmanship or class.  He watches game film, and tries to recruit more players. 

He tries to exploit weaknesses by sending in his best demons to attack us at our most vulnerable points.  He uses VICE, FLESH, and PRIDE to his advantage. 

On the other hand, the Crimson Crusaders have a much different strategy.  This is God’s strategy.  The first thing that He does is give people a choice to be on the team or not to be. 

Secondly, He sacrifices his best player.  He retires Jesus Christ to the Hall of Fame just when the battle is getting started.  But he sends in as a replacement the Holy Spirit, which has won numerous 6^th man awards as the best substitute there ever was.

He equips us with a good pep talk—The Bible, which is powered by LOVE, HOPE, and TRUTH.  He also allows his team the freedom to come up with their own strategies to fight the Black Devils.  He builds our practice facilities and calls them “church.”  He builds our understanding of the nature of the game through prayer, and he uses our faults, adversity, and difficulties to strengthen us for the fight. 

          But the Crimson Crusaders must realize that the numbers are stacked against them in this game of life.  They must realize that the enemy is strong, and not one to be taken for granted.  Their enemy is working everyday to change the world.  To gain a victory, it’s going to take work.  It’s going to take sacrifice.  But it starts with your decision…will you play for the Crimson Crusaders or the Black Devils?  Whom will you serve?