
While gathering research for the regular gathering of The Underground last week (for a lesson on The Problem of Pain), I ran across a slew of song lyrics declaring the “death” of God. Some championed the crowning of humanism, others wallowed in a melancholy of meaninglessness. Most, however, seemed to have a common subtext: “God hasn’t worked for me, and so He must be fantasy.”
Consider the following lyrics from the group known as The Germs, taken from a song fittingly titled “No God”:
I’ve read every book in the Bible Story
And all it ever brought me was another worry
Don’t want God, give me a jury,
See, there’s no God to make up my mind–
No God givin me time.
I peered in every window where I saw a cross
But I could never see just what they saw
In that piece of plaster on the wall
See, there’s no God to fear–
No God to hear your cries.
From the first words of the song, we see the complaint that God just didn’t “work” for the songwriter. He tried reading the entire Bible, but it brought naught but grief. How could something so useless be so important?
He continues by painting the Church as a group of daydreamers infusing their own fantasies into impotent pieces of stone. He seems to allow that they find some hope or satisfaction in crosses or other symbols. But, he can’t help but declare that these symbols really are just plaster and plastic. The hopes of the Church are merely empty hopes, after all.
Reading these words, I became frustrated by this (yet another) portrayal of the Church as wishful thinkers. This seems to rise from a broader idea which is a common thread of our society—the belief that religion is only good insofar as it is useful. After all, the songwriter himself seems to suggest that he would believe if only religion actually made him happier, if only it actually worked for him.
When religion seems to work—like when we want sweet stories at Christmastime—we find large swaths of our nation bending the knee. However, when we face the bleak reality of painful life, many reject any notion of a deity. All along, the drum inspiring the rhythm of our lives is too often one of utility—does it actually work to believe?
This has led to a confusing mishmash of messages. In the college classrooms, God is declared fantasy while at the same time we read words like “hope,” “faith,” and “believe” printed on post-modern wall hangings, plastered on billboards, and even used in political campaigns. What matters is not in whom you believe but the simple fact that you believe.
Perhaps this is why atheist professors under whom I’ve studied did not denounce my belief (or perhaps it was simple civility). They thought I believed in fantasy, but they knew I drew joy from this and so they allowed me to remain in my delusion.
In similar fashion, our culture simultaneously declares that God is not real and affirms those who believe in Him. “He is not real,” we hear, “but if it helps you to believe, go ahead and believe anyway.” Everyone knows the forbidden truth—that there is no God—but they only whisper this in the presence of believers lest their faith be diminished.
Let me be blunt. Belief in God does not always work—if “work” is to be defined as making me feel good, as stockpiling my money, or by some other superficial state. Indeed, reading, such as in Romans, of the depth of our sin makes me feel grief more often than mirth.
Why, then, do I believe? Why do I keep coming back to this warehouse known as Trinity Evangelical Church? Why do I read the pages before me known as The Bible?
If I do so only because it works for me right now, then sooner or later I’ll be singing the words to “No God” by the Germs.
Instead, I bend my knee in submission to God not because I like to, not because I have some innate desire for servitude, not because the food is good, but because I am persuaded that it is true.
The evidence for God’s existence must be judged as such—on its own apart from our wishes—and we must go where the evidence leads.
And that is true whether it works for you or not.