I'm an Atheist

His eyes looked extra blue today. It may have been that slim fit white polo with light blue stripes or the glasses he wore because he knew it would make me happy… and he probably didn’t want to deal with his contacts, but for story sake, it was for me. I even got to try them on.

I reached over the table and snagged the glasses off his face. I needed something to entertain me as we waited for the African American server with a bindi piercing on her forehead to bring us our Thai food. As I put them on my face, I realized that my left eye could see about fine, but my right eye, it struggled. We joked about how blind he is, in one eye, and shifted our dinner conversation.

I had just got back from coffee with a friend who was visiting from college, and I shared with him how she melts my heart whenever she comes to mind. No, not the romantic melt-my-heart, but the love that says, “I’m so lucky to know an outstanding and unique person such as you.” You know, sometimes you absolutely love someone for who they are, mostly their quirkiness or maybe their originality.

One time after we got coffee together, I blew her a kiss. She grabbed it out of the air, threw it in her mouth, and chomped down. The attention I got from the rest of the coffee shop for my outburst of laughter left me slightly embarrassed. “Oh my gosh I love you,” I laughed as she walked away.

I continued to tell him how my friends at my university blow me away by the depth of their character.

“Praise Jesus,” he jested, sipping on his Thai iced tea.

He knows I go to a Christian university. We joke about it sometimes. If anything, he grew up with more of a Catholic background, but he’s not a really fan of Christians or God, or so it seems. I don’t blame him. It was a difficult task for me to stay connected to the church, and I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t gone for the Christian college emersion technique.

“Shut up,” I jokingly sneered. “They really are outstanding people, beyond the Jesus stuff. I think you have the wrong idea of Christians.”

These wrong ideas are the shackles that inhibit people from gaining a better understanding of God, the immense jungle that we limit to some trees, vines, and coconuts. If we hold on to these limitations, we will never see the different breeds of animals sneaking through the jungle brush, the trillions of species of insects bouncing across the leaves, and the families of delicious fruit hanging from the limbs of the zapote trees.

God is more than we Christians share. We’ll throw out words like “omnipresent,” saying that God is always with us, but we leave out where and fear to say how. I’m an atheist too when it comes to the tree-vine-coconut God, the expansive, over-arching figure evaluating our every act. I believe in the God who is already present in miniscule good that seen all around us, in both the acknowledged and the neglected:

Revealing in the cycling ministries of our Mormon friends,

Renovating in the truth-demanding, honesty-yearning questions of a non-believer,

Reconciling in the authentic and healing love found between two homosexual men.

Through extensions of the love and Spirit of God, the work of God is displayed in the crevasses of each relationship between individuals.

One of our greatest problems is starting with the lofty idea of “God,” where people already have their lack-love, judgmental presuppositions and theories that must be broken down. Perhaps we should start with Truth, Hope, and Love, the things that everyone believes in and longs to see. Tell them to pray to Truth, to sing of Hope, and to paint for Love. Then, hopefully, they discover that these three figures all have the same name, Yahweh.

Pain In Sincerity

It’s two o’clock in the morning, and pinholes of light pierce the dark night sky. The melodies of Arcade Fire trickle from his speakers, and the sounds of somber crashing waves climb up the cliffs and reverberate throughout his car. From time to time, we have done this. From time to time, we have late night conversations, but the essence was different.

Before, my brokenness bound me with impenetrable grandeur walls, leaving others wandering the deserts of my soul as a thirsty nomad, waiting for a drip of enlightenment. But this night, we talked about how far I had come. Those walls had finally come crashing down, and I finally started making sense of who I am.

The conversation flowed, and I started piecing together more parts to the puzzle and finally made the connection.

“I can’t do this,” I thought to myself. My selfish actions had already hurt him, and I knew hurting him more would be excruciating. After I had already crushed him, I had to destroy his hope.

A lump of anxiety grew in the back of my throat as I scrounged for words, debating my statement’s worth. Absolutely. I pride myself on my honesty. I had to be honest. I grabbed my head, looked down to my feet and, like vomit. Out. It. Came.

“Sorry, I don’t feel the same way anymore. I’ve moved on,” I stated as I slowly looked over at him, knowing the words would not be taken well.

The anguish on his face peered into my eyes as his feelings of rejection washed into my core. My heart grew heavier with each second we held eye contact. His soaking eyes spewed guilt into my being, where it still continues to writhe.

Breaking someone’s heart hurts. It hurt me to have hurt him. It hurt encountering the pain of acknowledging that I am the source of pain for someone I still care about as a human being.

Greater than that pain, though, is realizing that he offered me the most genuine gift he could have, himself, and I denied it. He deliberately and dangerously offered me the gift of his affection, and I had to say, “No, thank you.”

At times, the price of honesty is brokenness. At times, we don’t want to hear it, but at least this conflict is derived from genuineness instead of insincerity. Genuineness presents the situation as it truly exists, independent of blind-hope that wrongly guides a victim to the flourishing of his pseudo-optimism.

The hole that I dug with blind-hope got deeper with each interaction. Every shovel full of dirt and dishonesty piled into one towering mountain on which he stood, making for one flattening fall when I finally realized what I had been doing.

Sincerity inhibits that hole from getting deeper and that mound from getting higher. Sincerity makes that fall slightly less miserable, slightly less traumatic. I would much rather know that I’m pursuing something genuine rather than blindly chasing something that fails to exist because once I reach the mountain’s summit, it is one shredding descent down the abyss to come.