atheism

Why I Do Apologetics

Sean McDowell — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 07:43:41 -0700

I recently did this video interview on the role of Apologetics in our world, and how I approach this important discipline. Enjoy!

Love Your Neighbor, the Atheist

Sean McDowell — Wed, 17 Aug 2011 17:33:30 -0700

When Jesus was asked the most important commandment in the law he answered to “love the Lord your God” and “love your neighbor.” In other words, the most important thing for Christians to do is to love (Mark 12). And yet this summer I have been reminded how far we have to go in learning to love our neighbors. Let me explain.

One of my favorite ways to teach students is through role-playing. I take on the part of an atheist, Muslim, Mormon, or a member of some other non-Christian worldview and challenge students to articulate and defend their beliefs accordingly. I have done this with groups of as few as twelve students or as many as 6,000.

One of the great values in role-playing is that it quickly reveals how little students actually understand their faith. Rarely have I encountered a student who was conversant about theology, science or philosophy. Most defend their views by quoting verses (even though my role-play persona typically does not believe in the Bible) or by pointing to some personal experience. As Barna studies reveal, few Christians understand or can articulate their faith.

And yet my role-play also reveals how students treat non-believers. This summer I role-played as an atheist at a summer camp. As soon as I put on my “atheist shirt,” to indicate I was role-playing, a youth pastor yelled out, “You are going to hell.” Everyone laughed. Another student read me Psalms 14:1, which says, “The fool says there is no God.” Others clapped and jeered as soon as they answered my questions or countered my challenges. Rather than loving me as a neighbor they told me I was going to hell, called me a fool, and cheered against me as if I was their cross-town rival.

The next day a girl came up to me and thanked me for fairly representing atheism. And the reason she cared was that she, herself, is an atheist. She said to me, “I have been doubting God for some time. I have a lot of questions. The reason I’m afraid to tell anyone is that I fear they will treat me exactly as they treated you last night.” I shared her story with the entire group the next day (with her permission) and you could have heard a pin drop. This was the first time many of them reflected on how they really treat people of other faiths.

I asked the students to consider what was in their hearts during the role-play. Were they really trying to understand my worldview, listen to me, love me as a human being, and draw me to Christ? Or were they trying to win the argument? Most admitted it was the latter.

How do you treat people of other faiths? Do you love them, as Jesus called us to do? I have heard pastors take cheap shots at atheists and listened to Christians tell derogatory jokes about gays. Why on earth would they come to church or consider the claims of Christ when we treat them like that? Paul made it clear that if we speak in tongues, or speak prophecies, but have not love, then we have nothing (1 Cor. 13:1-2).

The best way to overcome our biases about people of other faiths is to reach out and genuinely engage them in relationship. Don’t just hang out with other Christians. Sadly, people of other faiths are often surprised when Christians actually do this. But this is what Jesus did! Some of the most enriching relationships I have had over the past few years are with atheists and other non-Christians. When we actually build relationships with atheists, Muslims, agnostics, New Agers, or other non-Christians we will stop stereotyping them, and be in a much better position to love them. So, what non-Christian can you engage? How can you love your neighbor?

Much Ado About Nothing

Rick Bundschuh — Thu, 23 Jun 2011 00:13:11 -0700

It seems to me that atheists are becoming exceedingly shrill. Perhaps the swing towards a materialistic, deity-free culture has empowered them to come out of the shadows and boldly proclaim their belief in nothing and no one besides their own wisdom.

To be honest, atheists have never bothered me too much. I reserve my ammo for the “functional atheists”, those who give lip service to God but act in their everyday lives as if He is not the prime factor.

But apparently I, and those of my ilk, really bother them. We constantly annoy them by bringing up the “G” word and they fire back with odd fervor for a group who are so insistent on this entity being imaginary. They seem to lurk in the comment section of the Internet, mocking, insulting and foisting their half-baked intellectualism and Darwinian intellectual superiority upon those of us hayseeds who are so naïve as to even contemplate a Creator. They cause a ruckus in their attempt to sanitize any cultural, social, educational or political realm of the hint of this deity.

But it is hard for me to figure out why the expenditure of energy. After all, if they are right, life is void of any real meaning other than what we advanced biological units individually invent for it, and things such as right and wrong, good and bad, evil and holy are pure constructs that have no ultimate value.

For example, in the news recently the atheists went crazy because New York City named a street Seven In Heaven Way to honor seven firemen from one fire station who died on 9/11. They sputter and threaten lawsuits because the street contains the word “Heaven” in it and this is the government forcing a religious view that will harm the sensibilities of innocent atheists who find themselves wandering down this boulevard.

Now I don’t believe in fairies. I think that anyone who does is a little nutty and misguided. But if a local government wanted to name a street Tinkerbell Lane it would not get my knickers tied up in a knot. Nor do I think the pacifist would freak out at a street named after a war hero. (Trestles surfers all pass by such a road named for Medal of Honor winner John Basilone.)

It seems that the atheist crowd are more than a bit testy and militant. Which all leads me to ask, “So…what are they afraid of?” I mean so what if millions of us find it reasonable to believe in God and get solace out of putting our faith in Him? What difference to someone who believes in nothing, does it make if we imprint our world with marks of our faith?

If I were an atheist I would be spending my limited years on this earth trying to grab all the gusto I could. I would be trying to experience all the pleasures I desired without caring about such artificial inventions as goodness, morality, right, wrong or good and bad. I would be seeking creature comforts and building bigger barns.

The last thing I would be doing is to be wasting what little time and energy I had trying to annoy believers or spreading the bad news Gospel of my unbelief.

Unless…deep down in my heart of heart there flickered something so fearful, so potentially disrupting, and consuming that I needed to spend all the energy I could muster to keep it at bay.

“The fool says in his heart ‘there is no God’” – Psalm 14:1

The Problem of Evil is Everyone's Problem

Brett Kunkle — Tue, 15 Mar 2011 01:52:43 -0700

The Japan tsunami inevitably raises profound questions about God and evil. But in this discussion, it is important to realize every worldview, not just Christianity, must explain evil. Christians are often on the defense with regards to this objection, yet the tables can be turned on the atheist, with his naturalistic worldview in tow. Given naturalism, what is evil and how does the atheist make sense of it?  

Famous British philosopher and atheist Bertrand Russell once commented, "No one can believe in a good God if they've sat at the bedside of a dying child." Now, I agree that sitting at the bedside of a dying child is a heart-wrenching situation not to be treated simplistically or in a cavalier manner. Providing pat answers and quoting Romans 8:28 over and over will not suffice. But what of Russell'sresponse? What can the atheist say to the dying child? Or to the Japanese parents whose child disappeared in the flood waters?

"In the grand scheme of the universe your suffering is utterly meaningless--life and all that comes with it has no transcendent meaning or value."
"Your suffering is completely pointless since there is no purpose to any of this anyway."
"Fortunately, you will soon die and return to dust."
"Take heart, you will soon pop out of existence forever and your suffering will be over."
"Stuff like tsunamis just happen."
"Bummer."

 Or let's try the actual words of Russell:

"Brief and powerless is Man's life; on him and all his race the slow, sure dooms falls pitiless and dark."
"Blind to good and evil...omnipotent matter rolls on its relentless way."
"...no fire, no heroism, no intensity of thought and feeling, can preserve an individual life beyond the grave..."
"...all the labours of the ages, all the devotion, all the inspiration, all the noonday brightness of human genius, are destined to extinction in the vast death of the solar system..."
"Man's achievement must inevitably be buried beneath the debris of a universe in ruins..."

 Hmmm...not too comforting in the face of real tragedy & sorrow. Not only does atheism lack the intellectual resources to account for evil, it also lacks the emotional/psychological resources to bring hope and redemption to a world corrupted by both moral and natural evil. Russell's own words certainly clarify the absurdity of life without God.

Make no mistake, the problem of evil is not just a problem for Christianity--it is a problem for all worldviews because evil is fundamental to our human experience. If any worldview is to be considered plausible it must provide us with the intellectual and existential resources to deal with this issue.

Advice for Christians, a Challenge for Skeptics

Conversant Live — Fri, 10 Dec 2010 10:50:08 -0800

This is the final segment of a four-part conversation with a former Christian, William Lobdell and a former atheist, John Ball. William offers some direct advice for Christians: Get some humility, and don't be afraid to explore different things. And Joan has some words for skeptics: Know the real substance of what you're pushing against, and don't confuse that with what people may say or do.

Joan Ball and William Lobdell Part 4: For Christians and Skeptics from ConversantLife on Vimeo.

There's no God? How boring!

Sean McDowell — Wed, 24 Nov 2010 13:02:47 -0800

Last week I showed my students the movie Expelled by Ben Stein, where he argues that intelligent design proponents have lost jobs, lost tenure and had their reputations smeared. One of the memorable scenes of the movie featured William Provine, Cornell University Professor and outspoken atheist, articulating the implications of Darwinism. If Darwinism is true, says Provine, then there is no God, life after death, purpose, objective morality, or free will. They are all illusions fostered on us by our genes and environment.

Provine also criticizes intelligent design for being boring: “Can you imagine anything more boring? The boredom attached to ID is supreme. It is so boring that I can't even be bothered to think about it for a second. It's just utterly boring.” He said this with utter contempt for anyone who doubts Darwinian evolution.

The more I think about this quote the more I am convinced that Provine has it exactly backwards. Intelligent design is not boring, atheism is! I’m not saying that atheists are boring, for that would be an ad hominem fallacy. I have many atheist friends who are incredibly interesting people. In fact, some are far more thoughtful and engaging than many of my Christian friends. I am not criticizing atheists, but atheism. Atheists are often interesting people, not because of their philosophy, but in spite of it.

So why is atheism boring?

The problem with atheism is that humans are purely physical machines lacking free will (as Provine so clearly articulated). Thus, people are simply cogs in the materialistic universe dragged along by social and biological forces. Humans are simply puppets of nature acted upon by external forces in the environment rather than free beings that make meaningful decisions.

If naturalism is true and there is no free will, then there can be no real character development in life or in drama since people are helpless victims of their environment. This is why film professor John Caughie says that naturalism is boring when applied to movies (Television Drama: Realism, Modernism, and British Culture, p. 96-97).

Why do we enjoy movies? The simple answer is that we are drawn to characters that choose good over evil, hope over despair, and forgiveness over revenge. Yet if atheism is true, characters are driven entirely by the inexorable physical laws of nature—they don’t make any choices at all. Thus, Luke didn’t really choose to battle Darth Vader and the Dark Side—his genes did it for him. Rocky didn’t really go against the odds to be the Heavyweight Champion of the World—the laws of physics did it for him. How boring!

An example of naturalism in drama is Anton Chekhov’s The Three Sisters. The primary desire of the three sisters is to escape small-town life and move to Moscow. The entirety of the play involves them talking about moving but never actually doing it. They simply cannot escape from social expectations and family customs. What a great depiction of naturalism. Naturalistic films provide no dramatic escape from the environment because people are trapped behind their environment. These kinds of plays or films are frustrating, depressing, and anti-climactic. And yet they portray naturalism accurately. Again, how boring!

Ultimately, the deterministic worldview of atheism fails to capture life as we truly experience it. In her new book Saving Leonardo, Nancy Pearcey sums up the problem determinism poses for film:

“A deterministic worldview produces characters that are not true to life. In reality, people do make genuine decisions. Much of the drama of human life stems from wrestling with wrenching moral dilemmas. Though naturalism was an offshoot of realism, we could say its greatest flaw was that is was not realistic enough. We all experience the moment-by-moment reality of making choices. The experience of freedom is attested to in every human culture, in every era of history, and in every part of the globe” (p. 152).

A test for every worldview is if it can describe the world as we actually experience it. If a worldview fails to explain a universal human experience (such as free will) then it is inadequate. Professor Provine may choose to deny the existence of free will, but since he is made in the image of God, his life will betray that conviction.

In Expelled he tells his story of rejecting Christianity because of the compelling evidence for Darwinism. Ironically, one of the reasons he tells this is because he’s trying to persuade people to follow the same course. Yet if people are determined then they can’t choose otherwise. In fact, people can’t choose anything! Provine didn’t really even choose to reject Christianity—his genes did it for him. As sincere as Provine may be, I doubt he really believes this.

Again, my problem is not with atheists but with atheism. Provine strikes me as an eminently interesting person that I would enjoy getting to know. However, atheism is not only an inadequate worldview, it’s simply too boring.

Atheist Role Play

Sean McDowell — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 21:42:40 -0800

Last month I had the opportunity of speaking at the "Love God With All Your Mind" conference co-hosted by Biola University and Mt. Airy Bible Church. Other speakers included Frank Turek, Greg Koukl, Steve Schrader, and Craig Hazen. I was asked to speak on Apologetics for a New Generation. For the first hour I role-played an atheist. For any of you who teach or speak to youth, this may help provide a model for you on how to play 'Devil's Advocate" with young people so they are forced to defend their beliefs. Enjoy!

Sean McDowell - Apologetics for a New Generation from Mt. Airy Bible Church on Vimeo.

An Evening with Atheists

Drew Dyck — Fri, 10 Sep 2010 13:17:39 -0700

Christians love talking about atheists. Generally, however, we’re less excited about talking to them.

Well, one night last winter I set out to change that, at least in my own life. I attended an atheist gathering in my neighborhood.

But first I had to go online and join their “meet-up” group.

I remember my hand freezing on my computer mouse, unable to click the “join us” invitation. For a moment the cursor hovered over the button. Did I really want to do this?

I had already interviewed dozens of atheists for the book project I was working on, but most of my interviews had been conducted over the phone or via email. Somehow the prospect of sitting face to face with them was more intimidating. I wasn’t afraid of an intellectual assault. Yes, there would be plenty of God-bashing in these meetings, but I wasn’t likely to hear anything new. Thanks to my peculiar habit of reading reams of atheist literature, I’d heard most of the arguments against Christianity before, and all from the movement’s most eloquent spokespeople.

Rather it was the personal nature of these encounters that I found unsettling. These weren’t disembodied stories or abstract arguments. These were real people, and they’d be venting disdain for the God I believe in and loved. Talking to them over the phone was one thing; sitting face-to-face, eating chicken wings together at a local restaurant would be different.

Frankly, I was surprised to learn that an atheist group even existed in my neighborhood. Wheaton, Illinois, is a Christian powerhouse, an “evangelical Vatican,” as The New York Times has stated. Throw a stick and you’ll hit a church—and probably a parachurch organization too. I work in the area at Christianity Today International, a magazine and online publisher that reaches a total of six million readers. The sprawling campus of Tyndale House—publisher of the bestselling Left Behind series—sits so close to our offices that they literally walk over advance copies of new books. Just down the road loom the castle-like buildings of Wheaton College, known as the “Christian Harvard” and the alma mater of Billy Graham. There’s no shortage of churches either. According to some estimates, Wheaton has the most churches per capita of any city in the world.

No wonder area skeptics felt outnumbered. “Looking to meet like-minded individuals in a nation that is cuckoo for Christianity!” wrote one atheist on the Meet-up site.

“In a suburb filled with people that seem to be extremely narrow-minded and faith-centric, it’ll be nice to meet like-minded folks,” wrote another.

I began to see that these weren’t people meeting merely for intellectual stimulation; they were huddling together for warmth, the surrounding Christian culture an ever-present challenge to their beliefs. Still, they had an impressive network of “free-thinkers.” Just scanning the site opened my eyes to a whole underworld of doubt. There was a “Skeptics in the Park” group, a “Free Inquiry” club, even a “Latino Atheists Meet-up.”

When I finally worked up the courage to click the “Join Us!” button to receive meeting details, I was greeted by a picture of Greg, the group’s organizer. I guessed Greg to be in his mid-thirties, not much older than me. He was dressed impeccably, but looked dangerously thin with a head that probably appeared larger than it really was thanks to his slight frame and receding hairline. He looked directly into the camera with serious, intelligent eyes that seemed to dance with doubt. I had to chuckle—he fit my mental image of an atheist to a T.

Judging from the online comments of the members, however, These meetings weren’t somber, academic affairs. In fact, for most participants fun and community seemed to be the big draws.

“Nogodformethanks” boasted on the message board, “We have a fun, friendly group!”

They met at local pubs, or in homes. Some of the online pictures taken at their house meetings were indistinguishable from the church small group I attend every Wednesday.

The next meeting would be at a pub less than a mile from my house. I showed up feeling a little jittery. When I signed up I described myself as a “Christian writer” and I was nervous about how they’d respond to my presence.

When I walked into the pub, I didn’t know where to find them.

“I’m looking for a group of people,” I told the host.

His face was blank. Obviously there were many “groups of people” in the pub.

“They’re, um, atheists,” I offered.

Those were the magic words. He pointed me to three large adjoined tables near the back of the bar where a large group had already assembled. I walked over and introduced myself to the young man opposite the table from me. He shook his head.

“I saw your profile. I know who you are.” He let out a mock groan. “Why did I have to sit on this end of the table?”

Before I could respond, a gray-haired woman smiled warmly in my direction.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. What’s your name?”

“I’m Drew,” I said cheerfully. “I work just down the street at Christianity Today.”

Her brow furrowed.

“When did you become an atheist?”

“I didn’t. I’m a Christian.”

The word “Christian” seemed to hang in the air. The conversations around the table died, and I felt twenty-five pairs of eyes fasten upon me.

I had told several friends and family members of my plans to attend the meeting. Some of them weren’t sure about the idea. My wife, Grace, was particularly worried. She knew all too well my argumentative nature, and was worried about how atheists might react to my presence. Suddenly I was wondering if she had been right. I thought they’d be grateful for the chance to discuss their beliefs with a Christian. Instead they seemed irritated, even hostile.

As I sat at the table, questions started coming from every direction.

“Why did you come? Why are you writing this book? How can you believe in God?”

I tried to keep my answers short. I didn’t want to monopolize the conversation. After all, I was there to observe. I wanted to listen to them. But as the night wore on, I found myself embroiled in passionate but courteous debate. Some around the table seemed to warm to me, as I proved willing to engage in dialogue.

Somewhere in the midst of our conversations, a jovial young man named Jeff came clean as a former Christian. He’d left the faith only months earlier.

“I was in the Assemblies of God all my life,” he said. “I even played in a Christian band.”

What had caused his crisis of faith?

“I always believed the earth was 6,000 years old,” Jeff said bitterly.

“But now I know it’s not.”

For years Jeff tried desperately to maintain his belief in the young earth theory. He read material from Answers in Genesis, a Christian apologetics organization, consulted his pastor and people in his church. But ultimately he said he just couldn’t deny what he saw as the evidence that the world was much older than 6,000 years.

“That’s when I realized that Christianity just wasn’t true,” he said.

Inwardly I cringed at the false-alternatives scenario that Jeff had set up in his mind. For him, one geological question (which the Bible doesn’t even address explicitly) was the deciding factor for faith. However, for Jeff, the question of the earth’s age was paramount, and in his view Christianity had failed.

There were most sophisticated skeptics in the group. The middle-aged Englishman to my right was brilliant. Other members of the group seemed to defer to him. His training was in physics, and I ribbed him playfully about recent advances in the field that seemed to point to a creator.

“For hundreds of years the universe was thought to be infinite with no beginning or end,” I said. “But now we know that it had a definite beginning. Doesn’t that smack of creation to you?”

He smiled wryly.

“Well, the church got along perfectly fine for hundreds of years without that scientific knowledge.”

That exchange led to an interesting conversation about a variety of topics. We discussed physics, where his expertise clearly outmatched mine. Then we talked about the life of Jesus and the history of Christianity, where the tables turned in my favor. He even came to my defense when another atheist disagreed with my claim that the question of God's existence entails a discussion of philosophy.

At one point, I addressed the gaping chasm between the Christian and atheist worldviews.

“I don’t blame you for rejecting any claims of the supernatural,” I said. “In fact, I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”

Eyebrows raised around the table.

“From what I’ve heard here, most of you are naturalists, meaning that you deny reality beyond the physical world. Is that right?”

Several of them nodded.

“So if naturalism is the lens through which you view life, then any supernatural claims are rejected a priori. Your worldview simply doesn’t have room for such claims.”

Again, they agreed. One even admitted that he’d encountered phenomena that he couldn’t explain, but that it didn’t trouble him. “I just shrug and move on,” he said.

I had some good conversations with my new atheist friends. But I could sense that my presence was disruptive to the regular flow of the meeting. And ultimately, it wasn’t welcomed. Halfway through the evening, I was gently but firmly disinvited to future gatherings. They had come to the meeting anticipating a relaxing night of making fun of televangelists and passing around creationist tracts. Having to engage with a real-life person from the other side probably wasn’t what they had in mind on that Wednesday evening.

But the night was definitely worth it. I had some interesting exchanges, and think it helped me correct my own perceptions about atheists. I’m as guilty as the next person in the pew of harboring stereotypes. We view them probably much like they view of us: as hostile, homogenous. In reality, they’re a diverse bunch. Some at the meeting were thoughtful, some were not. Some were warm, some were standoffish.

Strangely enough, the experience also gave me hope. I sensed that the God they had rejected was still somehow active in their lives. Simmering just beneath the language of even the most hardened skeptic boils a cauldron of spiritual desire. When people lash out at God, I see it as a sign of life. It’s often a way of screaming that they wished he were there. As Christians we need to talk to atheists, and be ready to show them that he is real indeed.

This post is adapted from my forthcoming book, Generation Ex-Christian

Hitchens' Presumption of Meaning

Brett Kunkle — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 12:53:42 -0700

Even though I don't agree with his ideas, I must admit Christopher Hitchens is a talented writer. Here he writes an interesting account of his battle with cancer.

What I find highly interesting, and inconsistent, is Hitchens' presumption of meaning. Hitchens is an atheist. In his worldview, any objective transcendent meaning to life or its events is utterly illusory. No purpose here. Just a random collision of atoms in this cold dark universe we call home. Hitchens implies as much: "To the dumb question 'Why me?' the cosmos barely bothers to return the reply: Why not?" "Why me?' is indeed a dumb question when there's nothing or no one to answer.

However, Hitchens smuggles in morsels of meaning throughout. He tells us that in the "sick country" there appears to be no racism, implying that racism is really objectively wrong. The "egalitarian spirit" of the place accompanied by "hard work" are really good things to Hitchens. But how can we determine such things are objectively good in an atheistic world devoid of objective Good?

Instead of rage, Hitchens is "badly oppressed by a gnawing sense of waste." But how do we make sense of waste in an ultimately meaningless universe? Rather than battling cancer, Hitchens wishes for "suffering in a good cause" or risking his life "for the good of others." Noble ideas to be sure, but only meaningful in a universe with real Good, real Meaning Given Hitchens' worldview, I find his atheist forefather Bertrand Russell to be much more consistent:

"That man is the product of causes that had no prevision of the end they were achieving; that his origin, his growth, his hopes and fears, his loves and his beliefs, are but the outcome of accidental collocations of atoms; that no fire, no heroism, no intensity of thought and feeling, can preserve individual life beyond the grave; that all the labors of the ages, all the devotion, all the inspiration, all the noonday brightness of human genius, are destined to extinction in the vast death of the solar system, and that the whole temple of Man's achievement must inevitably be buried beneath the debris of a universe in ruins..."

Don't misunderstand me, I wish no ill on Mr. Hitchens. Count me in with the "astonishing number of prayer groups" on his side. I want him to beat cancer. But I also want him to be consistent. I don't want his life to suffer such an ignoble end, "buried beneath the debris of a universe in ruins." But such would be consistent with atheism. Rather, I want him to find the True, the Good, and the Beautiful -- a life filled with meaning. However, such a discovery can only come through conversion to Christian theism, the very worldview Hitchens has given an entire lifetime to destroying.

So is there hope for Hitchens? Absolutely. In the Christian worldview, hope reigns supreme. Redemption is possible because there really is a Redeemer. And He holds out hope, even to the cancer-stricken hostile atheist, until the very last breath of life is taken.

Here's hoping--and praying--for a death-bed conversion.

Interview With Rachel Held Evans

Brett McCracken — Thu, 08 Jul 2010 18:17:16 -0700

Evolving in Monkey Town is a great new book by a young evangelical author recounting her spiritual journey as she’s moved from the “all questions are answered” certainty of her evangelical youth to the somewhat more complicated, “questions are ok” place she now finds herself. It’s a great read, full of provocative insights and disturbing questions about Christianity–the sorts of things that lead many Christians of a certain age to abandon their faith. In spite of the spiritual crisis she recounts in the book, author Rachel Held Evans hasn’t abandoned her faith, just allowed it to evolve a little bit (hence the title). In this interview, she discusses some of the problems that led her to question her faith (hell, “the cosmic lottery,” etc), the damage done by “false fundamentals,” and what parts of Christianity she’d like to see evolve.

Why did you title the book Evolving in Monkey Town?

Being from Dayton, Tennessee—home of the Scopes Monkey Trial of 1925—the title was just too irresistible. I’m really glad Zondervan decided to keep it, even after I submitted a list of alternate titles for them to consider, (including my husband’s suggestion of “Maturing in Ape Village,” just for fun).

In addition to being a fun play on words, the title points to a larger theme in the book: that sometimes faith has to adapt to change in order to survive. I think this happens on both an individual and collective level, whenever circumstances prompt Christians to reexamine what it really means to follow Jesus.

Who is the audience you’d most like this book to reach?

I wrote it with young (evangelical) adults in mind, but I hope it’s helpful to anyone who wrestles with tough questions about faith. My goal isn’t really to answer all those questions, but rather provide a little companionship for the journey.

In many ways, your book is a chronicle of your faith crisis, and one of the big issues you wrestle with is what you describe as the “cosmic lottery.” Could you describe this term, and how it posed problems for your faith?

I think Adah Price—a narrator in Barbara Kingsolver’s book The Poisonwood Bible—says it best. “According to my Baptist Sunday-school teacher,” she explains “a child is denied entrance to heaven merely for being born in the Congo rather than, say, north Georgia, where she could attend church regularly. This was the sticking point in my own little lame march to salvation: admission to heaven is gained by luck of the draw. At age five I raised my good left hand in Sunday school and used a month’s ration of words to point out this problem to Miss Betty Nagy. Getting born within earshot of a preacher, I reasoned, is entirely up to chance. Would Our Lord be such a hit-or-miss kind of Savior as that? Would he really condemn some children to eternal suffering just for the accident of a heathen birth?…Miss Betty sent me to the corner for the rest of the hour to pray for my own soul while kneeling on grains of uncooked rice. When I finally got up with sharp grains imbedded in my knees I found, to my surprise, that I no longer believed in God.” (p. 171)

It took me longer than Adah to ask myself these questions, but when I did, they irritated me like grains of rice stuck to my knees.

Aside from your very brief Reformed phase, it doesn’t sound like you’ve had a very good experience with Calvinism. Are there any aspects of the Reformed tradition that you appreciate?

I deeply appreciate the Reformed emphasis on undeserved grace. My Reformed friends are often the first to acknowledge their complete dependence upon the transformative work of Jesus, and I admire that a lot. It is perhaps a common misunderstanding that Arminians do not share this perspective on grace, that we believe ourselves to be the initiators of reconciled relationship with God. This isn’t true.

Arminians simply believe that God initiates relationship with all people, not just the elect. Both groups seem to agree that it is God who loves first and that grace is completely underserved. But I like the way Reformed leaders in particular have so poignantly expressed this through the years.

Hell seems to be a big problem for you, as it is for many Christians–especially the notion that every non-Christian will go there when they die. Do you still believe that hell exists? If so, who do you think goes there?

Short answer: I don’t know.

Long answer: I believe that one day Jesus will return to judge the nations and that everything will be set right. I wish I knew exactly how he was going to do this, but I don’t. One minute the Bible seems to support the notion of eternal damnation, the next minute it seems to support universalism. Most days I lean toward a sort of conditionalist (or annihilationist) view that God will get rid of evil once and for all, so that no trace of it remains, and then reconcile all things to himself. Regarding the fate of non-Christians, I like what C.S. Lewis said—“We do know that no person can be saved except through Christ. We do not know that only those who know Him can be saved by Him.” But I could be wrong, and I’m open to other people’s perspectives on this.

Our generation of evangelicals were often brought up with an apologetics mindset–always wanting to defend the faith or make the “case for faith” to the supposedly atheist, secular humanist throngs who had it out for Christianity. But you point out that most of your peers are actually not “searching for historical evidence in support of the bodily resurrection of Jesus” as much as they are “searching for some signs of life among his followers.” What role do you think apologetics should play in Christianity today, if any?

Apologetics are great as long as they help us love God and our neighbors better. People always point to Paul’s sermon at Mars Hill as an example of making a good case for Christianity, but what I love about that story is that Paul pulled from Greek literature and philosophy to make his point—seeking common ground rather than mocking what other people believed. So I think apologetics should continue, but perhaps with a different tone and emphasis, one that seeks to build bridges rather than conquer and destroy. And I think we have to keep in mind the fact that we preach Christ crucified—not the most logical thing in the world! Our best apologetic is a life transformed by the love of Jesus Christ, and that’s not something you can cram into an argument.

I thought this was an interesting statement: “I am convinced that what drives most people away from Christianity is not the cost of discipleship but rather the cost of false fundamentals.” What do you mean by false fundamentals?

Those things that sorta a get attached to Christianity along the way, but don’t really belong….or at least aren’t essential. In evangelicalism it tends to be things like young earth creationism, Republicanism, religious nationalism, a commitment to the culture wars, etc. It makes me really sad when friends feel they have to walk away from the faith just because they took a biology class or voted for Barack Obama. But there seems to be this impression among Christians and non-Christians alike that you can’t be a Christian and believe in evolution, you can’t be a Christian and be gay, you can’t be a Christian and have questions about the Bible, you can’t be a Christian and appreciate elements of other religions, you can’t be a Christian and be a feminist, you can’t be a Christian and drink or smoke, you can’t be a Christian and get depressed, you can’t be a Christian and doubt. The list goes on.

I’m inclined to say that the only fundamental requirement for following Jesus should be love—for God and for one another. But I usually get talked out of this by someone who makes a good point about maybe adding the Apostle’s and Nicene creeds…which is fair enough. :-)

Near the end of the book, you write that you are “learning to love the questions” and that you hope that “the questions will dissolve into meaning, the answers won’t matter so much anymore, and perhaps it will all make sense to me on some distant, ordinary day.” Could you elaborate on what you mean by this?

In some ways the journey of faith is a lot like the writing process. In Bird by Bird Anne Lamott writes about how sometimes you have to write three or four pages of material that you will never use in order to get to “that one long paragraph that was what you had in mind when you started, only you didn’t know that, couldn’t know that, until you got to it.” Sometimes I think of my questions and doubts like that. I need to experience them right now in order to learn something in the future—maybe the answers; maybe something more important than the answers. I just have to have patience with the process in the meantime.

I think that’s what Rilke meant when he said to “have patience with everything that remains unresolved in your heart…Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question.”

As Christianity evolves in the next decade or so, which of its present attributes would you most like to see go the way of the dodo bird?

Haha! I love the way you asked that question.

I’m hoping that over the next few decades we will talk less about the culture wars and more about reconciliation. I’d like it if we stopped trying to force the Bible into modern scientific paradigms and instead embraced it as an inspired, ancient text in which God chose to use the language and culture of the people he loved in order to communicate to them. And I hope we move from an individualistic view of Jesus in which he is our “personal savior” to a kingdom perspective in which he is the “savior of the world.”