I’m a minister, and I have friends who don’t believe in God. By “friend” I don’t mean “people I’m trying to convert.” I mean real people whom I value and whom I respect.
As I was reading the book of Ecclesiastes this morning, I realized how similar the issues raised by the author (called Qoheleth) are to some of the issues that concern my atheist friends. Here’s an informal compilation of some points of similarity:
The meaning of life
- Atheists assert that the world has no overarching story, purpose, force, or being acting upon it. “The more we know of evolution, the more unavoidable is the conclusion that living things, including human beings, are produced by a natural, totally amoral process, with no indication of a benevolent, controlling creator.” D.P. Barash
- Ecclesiastes opens with what looks like a similar claim about the amorality of human existence: “Meaningless!” (1:1) This word is the mantra of the book and the more Qoheleth looked for meaning in his life, the less he found. The Hebrew word is hevel, and it can can mean “empty,” “vanity,” or suggest a fading vapor.
Ways toward fulfillment
- If there is no creator, no moral code built into the fabric of the world, then humans shape meaning, getting fulfillment from loved ones, art, work, etc.
- Qoheleth also knows that people strive for meanings that don’t exist, meanings that must be found in the immediate context: “I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil.” (3:12-13).
The need for community
- Atheists understand the world in the collective. The goal of evolution (to use an anthropomorphism) is survival of the species, that is, the entire group. Evolutionarily speaking, no one is ever alone.
- Qoheleth also notes the need for community survival: “Twho are better than one . . . if one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the one who falls and has no one to help him up” (4:9-10).
Desire for justice
- Despite the wording that the natural order is “amoral,” I don’t know any atheists lacking a sense of morality or justice. Atheist and theist alike can point to injustices, and often these injustices are connected to religion. (I heard the story of a noted atheist traveling in Northern Ireland when the IRA was active. He was stopped by armed men without insignia. A man pointed a gun at him and asked if he was Catholic or Protestant. He had never been happier to have no faith at all and gladly exclaimed, “I’m an atheist!” The gunman paused and then asked, “Are you a Catholic atheist or a Protestant one?”) Atheists may well be the first to see injustice when it is done in the guise of faith.
- Qoheleth also knows about injustice: “In this meaningless life of mine I have seen both of these: a righteous man perishing in his righteousness, and a wicked man living long in his wickedness” (7:15). Qoheleth knows that life is unfair and does not turn a blind eye to injustice.
These similarities are not to say that Qoheleth was an atheist. On the contrary, Qoheleth writes Ecclesiastes to wrestle with the realities of life within a framework of faith.
And I don’t mean by these similarities that atheists are somehow closet theists. I hope I have characterized the thinking of my atheist friends well enough for a blog post; I’ve no intention of being patronizing.
Yet I do find in Ecclesiastes points of contact between my faith and my atheist friends. The book confronts the difficulties of life without saccharine platitudes. The book asks the tough questions—even questions that seem to question his faith—and yet still finds God.
However many years anyone may live, let them enjoy them all. But let them remember the days of darkness, for there will be many. Everything to come is meaningless. Ecclesiastes 11:8
In the end, Qoheleth remains a theist, calling us to “respect God.” It is in his relationship with the creator that Qoheleth seeks answers to life’s futility.
Perhaps Qoheleth gives us tools for meaningful, respectful conversations about our faith and our lack thereof.
There is a point at which sin so entangles us that we cannot even pray for forgiveness. The wrong feels so good; and the good feels so distant. We know God is there, but we have no clue how he can be. Or how he can be there for us.
I’ve been there. You’ve likely been there. The Psalmist was there with us.
It’s at this dead end point—embraced by death and terror—that the psalmist looks back in Psalm 116. Nothing but sorrow. Nothing but trouble.
He cannot even confess. He cannot give voice to the need of his heart. He simply feels dead, trapped, helpless. So his cry to God is simple: “Please, Lord, save me!”
It’s is good that we confess our sins, that we totally come clean to God and appropriate others. But we can’t always do that. We’re too far gone to name our sin, to utter a confession.
All we can say is: Please help me.
God hears. And he saves. “He hears my voice. He bends down to listen.”
When I cannot stand up in the mire of my own bad choices, God bends down to hear me. When I cannot express what I think and feel, God hears anyways.
“I was facing death and he saved me.” All because of one whispered sentence.
“Please help me!”
God does save even those who don’t know how they can be saved. Those at the end of their ropes. Those so deep it seems hopeless. To those so hardened that they crave the very things that ensnare them. One prayer opens us to God’s salvation.
“Please help . . . ”
No matter where you are, no matter how dark it seems, not matter how confused you may be, no matter how tired you feel. You are not beyond God hearing the smallest prayer.
“Please . . . ”
Someday—I hope very soon—you and I can join the psalmist in declaring: “I will . . . praise the Lord’s name for saving me.”
We seldom talk about gluttony. Gluttony—a vulgar word signifying a vulgar want for more, well beyond what is appropriate.
We seldom talk about gluttony because gluttony is one of our favorite American pastimes.
You don’t have to go far to see gluttony in various manifestations.
Sugary breakfast cereals and fatty chips get extra display space at the grocery store. The only virtue those products have is that they taste good. So we eat more than what is good for us—way more! It’s cheap and tastes good. So we eat.
Our homes over the past 100 years have grown from “Home Sweet Home” include the amenities found in health clubs, theaters and parks. Home not big enough? There are plenty out there, no matter how big your appetite.
We want our bodies to stronger and faster and better. They’re never attractive enough or tall enough or shaped just right. We lust to remake our bodies, not for health or fitness, but because we want more approval, self confidence.
We want more channels, more options, more colors, more styles, more selection. More RAM and wider bandwidth Internet so we can get more of what we don’t need.
It is counter-cultural to say: Stop! Enough is enough. Gluttony is so much a part of our lives that the simple phrase, “You don’t really need that” is like a slap in the face.
“Who are you to tell me I can’t have my cake and eat it too?”
Jesus gave us one line of his brief prayer to stop us. To veer us away from gluttony. To stop us dead in our designer-shoed tracks:
“Give us this day our daily bread.”
Not bread with butter. Not foodie-approved bread from designer bakeries. No jam and certainly not Pop-Tarts. Just bread. Just enough. Just for today.
As we come together today, may we be honest about our food, property, good, and desires.
And may God grant us simply all that we need.