reflections on a Sunday afternoon

Against my better judgment, I frequent an online discussion board known as ClemsonTalk, often abbreviated as CT. I don't post all that often, but I check the site almost every time I get online just to read about the most recent happenings in Clemson, as well as the finest political and religious pseudo-debate this side of the comments section of the Greenville News online. (I'm just kidding; on any scale of argumentative sophistication, one will find that the comments section of the Greenville News online ranks just slightly above simian poo-flinging).

So I was reading a thread on ClemsonTalk that began with the question of whether there is "room for morality in atheism," but 184 posts later, turned into an irreverent and lively exchange between two individuals about the extent to which anyone is morally obligated to "respect" another person's beliefs.

Two fun questions, and I'd like to take this space to work out my thoughts on the first, followed by a digression that's only somewhat related, but which I judged to be a fruitful train of thought.

***

There is no room for morality in atheism. That was the title of the thread, and it was posted by a Clemson alumnus who I would describe as an evangelical atheist. He began with this quote from another CT user from another religion-related thread:

"Wrong! My debate is against atheism. You want desperately to explain morality while embracing atheism, but it's impossible. There is no room for morality within atheism. There is no room for right and wrong within atheism. There is no room for God within atheism, and without God there is no morality. God is moral and right and best."

To this, my atheist e-acquaintance simply wrote "I'm calling this out," and the opinionated responses came rolling in. Rather than jumping into that fray where any point - however well-reasoned and artfully worded - can be defeated with a snarky comment and/or a picture of a cat with a humorously relevant caption, I choose to post my thoughts here, where I can be as long-winded and slow to the point as I care to be. (The previous sentence, for example, contained 58 words and was of no use whatsoever, other than for my own pleasure in writing it).

The passage quoted two paragraphs above rubs me the wrong way. It betrays a total lack of understanding that human beings are inherently moral beings. Much worse in my eyes, it promotes a terribly narrow view of God.

"God is moral and right and best." A fine closing statement with which I wholeheartedly agree. But everything before it suggests a reality in which God can be forced out, held at bay, and shut up by the force of human will and belief. This reality neither holds up to scriptural truth, nor to my experience. Read Genesis 1-3, Psalm 139, even the familiar yet still surprising account of Jonah, and try telling me that Yahweh and His influence can so easily be avoided.

"Without God there is no morality." I don't know how to evaluate that statement. It brings an image to my mind of a child saying "If my parents didn't exist, I could do whatever I wanted." Good observation, kid. Except that your parents are the only reason you exist in the first place, not to mention all of the other needs and wants that they fulfill. A child may run away from home, disown his parents, and in bizarre cases even fully disbelieve that they exist. But he can do nothing to change the truth that he is a unique living person precisely because his parents made him so.

And so it is with our heavenly Father.

The atheist's disbelief can never change his status as a moral being created by God, for God, and fiercely loved by God in the midst of a world bent towards confusion and rebellion and evil. Nor can I change my status, which is the same as the atheist's - but with the world-shattering exception that I have come into a relationship with God. I could no more remove myself from this relationship, from His presence, than I could lift myself into flight by pulling up on my ears. Both attempts are doomed to failure, and look utterly silly.

I was given a beautiful reminder of this truth at church this morning. As we moved into the tradition of communion, my pastor gave this invitation to all in attendance:

"Don't try to sketch out the plans for your own rescue."

This brought what felt like a sad smile to my face. I'm quite familiar with the practice of psyching myself up to approach God.

Bow my head and look down at the floor. Hold my hands solemnly together and spend a moment in quiet reflection. Think about spiritual things. Run through my mental checklist of fundamental beliefs; make sure I'm in the right frame of mind, and qualified to participate in this holy ritual. Stand up slowly and deliberately, and walk forward with my head slightly down, my hands folded in front of me. Make sure I keep a thoughtful and reverent expression on my face, so the beautiful girl sitting over there knows I'm a truly spiritual dude.

All this amounts to a silent declaration that I have my stuff together, when the nature of receiving communion states quite clearly and accurately that I am a mess. My best days are when I can admit that this is the case.

But today, the invitation was made clear. It's not an invitation to state or affirm anything. At its irreducible core, it is an invitation to receive, taste, and accept God's best. So that is what I did, amidst the echoes of my own inner monologue still whispering that my plan for God was not yet fully sketched.

Bollocks to that, the delightful phrase goes. My plans are small, my philosophy is weak, and my wisdom isn't much more illuminating than what you'll find in the comments section of the Greenville News online. And so it comes full circle.

"Don't try to sketch out the plans for your own rescue." I intend to keep that nugget with me, and continue to figure out the fullness of the truth behind it.