This month, I came excruciatingly close to walking away from my faith.
It doesn’t seem to be a coincidence that, also recently, my lifelong Christian husband told me that he is now an atheist.
His is not a militant atheism. His is not born of emotion or bitterness or pain. These things I would understand. Instead, his atheism has an intellectual genesis. After nearly a decade of investigation and research and reading -- research that he began in the hopes of strengthening his faith -- he kept whittling away beliefs that he felt he could not hold on to . . . only to find that, in the end, he found himself praying to thin air devoid of promise. And so he released his core belief in God, too.
We began talking about his atheism nightly, he and I, because we each want to understand the other, and to be understood ourselves.
And after weeks of this, my own faith felt thin and reedy in my hands.
Because I would have dismissed the things he said had they fallen from any other lips. But when you watch the words “I do not think it’s possible for there to be a god” drip from that mouth that you’ve kissed more times than you could count . . . it’s different. It’s earth-shattering.
Or really, faith-shattering.
Almost. . . .
It doesn’t seem to be a coincidence that, also recently, my lifelong Christian husband told me that he is now an atheist.
His is not a militant atheism. His is not born of emotion or bitterness or pain. These things I would understand. Instead, his atheism has an intellectual genesis. After nearly a decade of investigation and research and reading -- research that he began in the hopes of strengthening his faith -- he kept whittling away beliefs that he felt he could not hold on to . . . only to find that, in the end, he found himself praying to thin air devoid of promise. And so he released his core belief in God, too.
We began talking about his atheism nightly, he and I, because we each want to understand the other, and to be understood ourselves.
And after weeks of this, my own faith felt thin and reedy in my hands.
Because I would have dismissed the things he said had they fallen from any other lips. But when you watch the words “I do not think it’s possible for there to be a god” drip from that mouth that you’ve kissed more times than you could count . . . it’s different. It’s earth-shattering.
Or really, faith-shattering.
Almost. . . .
This month, I have an article on doubt + faith in Sprout Online Magazine's faith edition!
I don't usually plug my pieces that are not available for free like this, but this article is a piece of my own soul let loose in the world and I think it's important enough to share in this manner. I love love love Sprout, and know that you won't be disappointed if you choose to join in the colorful, profound, beautiful offerings there.
{FYI the links here are affiliate
links, and I only endorse products I fully believe in and have been
personally been touched by.}
Stopping over from Emily's today.
ReplyDeleteThis is so achingly beautiful..."But when you watch the words “I do not think it’s possible for there to be a god” drip from that mouth that you’ve kissed more times than you could count . . . it’s different. It’s earth-shattering."
I find myself in a place where my faith feels "thin and reedy in my hands" also. A hard place to be for sure.
Makes me very sad....
ReplyDeleteLuckily our heavenly father doesn't stop believing in us when we stop believing in him. To feel there is no Higher Power puts such a damper on things! But I also understand that sometimes when awful things happen to people, they can no longer believe in anything bigger than their own pain. It's being very human. It's a self-protection sort of thing.
ReplyDeleteWow that was not what I would expect to happen when checking out others belief system in atheism. But what we feed and renew in our minds is what we attach to. May the God who loves so deeply turn his head back in his appointed time. And may the man you sleep next to catch your hope and faith in the night season. Blessings to you Beth!
ReplyDelete