The task of living a fully God-centered life is no walk in the park, as the lives of the greatest and most fully converted Christians who have ever lived—the saints—will attest. Indeed, Christianity lived to the fullest involves struggle. But is the struggle worth it?
Often the skeptic will see the struggle and be deterred. But of course, even the most hardened skeptic cannot be considered a total write-off. Indeed some skeptics are eventually compelled to change their mind. This is the hopeful realization that drives evangelism.
The rejection of God today, however, is often not caused primarily by philosophical argument. Usually it is a result of indifferentism towards religion—a result of what Bishop Robert Barron has called the “Meh” culture. The question is: Is this popular religious indifference warranted? Are Christians who toil for the cause of Christ wasting their precious time?
If God does not exist, it does not matter how you wager, for there is nothing to win after death and nothing to lose after death. But if God does exist, your only chance of winning eternal happiness is to believe, and your only chance of losing it is to refuse to believe. As Pascal says, ‘I should be much more afraid of being mistaken and then finding out that Christianity is true than of being mistaken in believing it to be true.’
The Christian life demands change, and the toughest kind. It often means turning from the things that come easiest—things that satisfy our natural urges. But the ability to freely choose to say no to our urges and impulses is what makes us distinctly human. To say no—and yes!—at the right time is what makes humans happy. Ideally, this is true freedom. Christianity is an invitation to actualize the human destiny of everlasting happiness; and through the Church, God has provided the road map to get us there.
Christianity is hard because it aims to soften hearts. One of the tough facts of Christianity is that we must face up to the fact that we are fallen. We are often not what we ought to be. G.K. Chesterton writes: “One of the chief uses of religion is that it makes us remember our coming from darkness, the simple fact that we are created.”
What makes Christianity hard is that it reminds us of our imperfections. We are much too prideful to enjoy such a thing—and this, I fear, is where the skeptic checks out. The skeptic robs himself of the opportunity to encounter the Good News. Chesterton famously remarked: “The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried.”
This is the great modern tragedy arising out of an age of hedonism and “choose your own way” morality. One might call our times the “Age of Self-Sedation.” Instead of pursuing the supernatural high that explodes interiorly from personal union with God (the highest of highs—just read St. John of the Cross or St. Teresa of Avila), the modern man chases sex, drugs, travel, houses, fame, “likes,” retweets, and on goes the list. But it is to no lasting avail.
A Christian who thinks he can be a saint without suffering in this world is mistaken. This begs the question: “Who would choose such an unhappy life?” In "God in the Dock", the former atheist C.S. Lewis responded to this question by remarking: “I didn’t go to religion to make me happy. I always knew a bottle of Port would do that. If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity.”
It is true that Christianity does not exist to make us happy. But it does exist to make us joyful. Peter Kreeft, who some believe is the “C.S. Lewis of our times,” makes the following distinction: “Joy is more than happiness, just as happiness is more than pleasure. Pleasure is in the body. Happiness is in the mind and feelings. Joy is deep in the heart.”
The Gospel is an invitation to life everlasting from the Everlasting Man—and with life everlasting comes joy everlasting. Christ promises us that “no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor 2:9). Of course, this offer means nothing if God does not exist. It would mean the Christian labors in vain. At best it would be a nice idea worth spreading to make one feel warm and fuzzy, a safety blanket for the naive. Steven Hawking once proposed that heaven is a “fairy story for people afraid of the dark.” Oxford mathematician John Lennox replied by saying, “Atheism is a fairy story for those afraid of the Light.”
God is not a wishful “projection” of the human mind, as Ludwig Feuerbach and friends have contended. There is far too much external evidence for the existence of God. Thus, theoretical physicist Paul Davies, though not a religious man, has concluded upon analysis of the cosmos: “There is for me powerful evidence that there is something going on behind it all…It seems as though somebody has fine-tuned nature’s numbers to make the Universe…The impression of design is overwhelming.”
A different kind of projection that is, however, a real issue is the skeptic’s projection of human qualities onto God. Thus, when the critic of Christianity says, “If God really existed he would (or would not) do this or that,” what he really means is, “If I were God, I would (or would not) do this or that.” This might be called the anthropomorphic problem of the problem of evil. Contrarily, the God of Christianity is eternal, immaterial, all-powerful, all-knowing, all-present—and yes, all-good and loving. He is not like us in all his perfection but rather wholly other. Therefore, we cannot expect to understand God’s ways absolutely. This is where religious belief comes in—when the human intellect meets its threshold and “informed” faith bursts forward. As a wise English convert to Christianity has reflected: “The poet only asks to get his head into the heavens. It is the logician who seeks to get the heavens into his head. And it is his head that splits.”
This does not mean, however, that Christian faith and the works that flow from it are based irrationally on a grand metaphysical guess about the unseen. Christianity hinges on the person of Jesus, and virtually all New Testament experts today, including the critics, agree that Jesus certainly existed. To add to the testimony of his existence, ancient texts such as the Babylonian Talmud record Jesus to be a worker of wondrous deeds. We have more reliable historical information about Jesus than almost any other major figure in antiquity. (Unfortunately, it is often overlooked that the New Testament writings are also valuable ancient historical texts.)
Furthermore, the miracle claims of Christianity abound and continue to survive rigorous scientific scrutiny. Recognized by researchers are new developments with the Shroud of Turin; naturally inexplicable events like a dancing sun in Fatima confirmed by secular newspapers and hundreds of eyewitnesses; the “bread” of the Eucharist mysteriously changing to uncorrupting human flesh (like in Lanciano, Italy); the incorrupt bodies of deceased saints (like St. Bernadette); and countless records of miraculous cures and healings, such as those in Lourdes, France. This sheds some light on why Christians are so willing to suffer for their faith: they know with their heart, as well as their head, that Jesus is who he claimed to be. And through miraculous events such as these, God has given believers (and unbelievers) a little help.
It must be noted, however, that in Christianity, the heart has a certain primacy over the head; for God judges hearts, not heads. Faith is largely a matter of the heart—indeed, its surrendering, even breaking.
But the choice to be Christian is as much a decision to follow one’s head as a decision to follow one’s heart. Faith stands on the shoulder of reason as we “logic things out” in order to approach (and accept) the mysteries of faith. But I feel that religious faith is not opposed to reason. Reason leads to faith. As St. John Paul the Great has confirmed for us: “Faith and reason are like two wings on which the human spirit rises to the contemplation of truth.”
Sad to say, there are times when my reasoning power is not adequately fulfilling and I lack faith in my ability to meet the challenge I mentioned at the beginning of this piece. Could be that I am not sufficiently saved, and only God can help me now. But then again, why should He when He has 6,928,198,253 other people living in the world to be concerned about? That's just me looking for answers when there are none.
This is all so much hard work for a simple man who is getting slightly tired and somewhat reluctant to call himself a Christian, given what I have just so sanctimoniosly outlined. Personally speaking, there is no joy when in pensive moments I erroneously feel that my beliefs have set me up to fail. I have to remind myself that Jesus died for my sins and I am already saved. I just have to keep acknowleding that fact.
Nevertheless, please heart, don't just yet fail this old sinner who has not always practised what he preached, but meant well!
Often the skeptic will see the struggle and be deterred. But of course, even the most hardened skeptic cannot be considered a total write-off. Indeed some skeptics are eventually compelled to change their mind. This is the hopeful realization that drives evangelism.
The rejection of God today, however, is often not caused primarily by philosophical argument. Usually it is a result of indifferentism towards religion—a result of what Bishop Robert Barron has called the “Meh” culture. The question is: Is this popular religious indifference warranted? Are Christians who toil for the cause of Christ wasting their precious time?
If God does not exist, it does not matter how you wager, for there is nothing to win after death and nothing to lose after death. But if God does exist, your only chance of winning eternal happiness is to believe, and your only chance of losing it is to refuse to believe. As Pascal says, ‘I should be much more afraid of being mistaken and then finding out that Christianity is true than of being mistaken in believing it to be true.’
The Christian life demands change, and the toughest kind. It often means turning from the things that come easiest—things that satisfy our natural urges. But the ability to freely choose to say no to our urges and impulses is what makes us distinctly human. To say no—and yes!—at the right time is what makes humans happy. Ideally, this is true freedom. Christianity is an invitation to actualize the human destiny of everlasting happiness; and through the Church, God has provided the road map to get us there.
Christianity is hard because it aims to soften hearts. One of the tough facts of Christianity is that we must face up to the fact that we are fallen. We are often not what we ought to be. G.K. Chesterton writes: “One of the chief uses of religion is that it makes us remember our coming from darkness, the simple fact that we are created.”
What makes Christianity hard is that it reminds us of our imperfections. We are much too prideful to enjoy such a thing—and this, I fear, is where the skeptic checks out. The skeptic robs himself of the opportunity to encounter the Good News. Chesterton famously remarked: “The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried.”
This is the great modern tragedy arising out of an age of hedonism and “choose your own way” morality. One might call our times the “Age of Self-Sedation.” Instead of pursuing the supernatural high that explodes interiorly from personal union with God (the highest of highs—just read St. John of the Cross or St. Teresa of Avila), the modern man chases sex, drugs, travel, houses, fame, “likes,” retweets, and on goes the list. But it is to no lasting avail.
A Christian who thinks he can be a saint without suffering in this world is mistaken. This begs the question: “Who would choose such an unhappy life?” In "God in the Dock", the former atheist C.S. Lewis responded to this question by remarking: “I didn’t go to religion to make me happy. I always knew a bottle of Port would do that. If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity.”
It is true that Christianity does not exist to make us happy. But it does exist to make us joyful. Peter Kreeft, who some believe is the “C.S. Lewis of our times,” makes the following distinction: “Joy is more than happiness, just as happiness is more than pleasure. Pleasure is in the body. Happiness is in the mind and feelings. Joy is deep in the heart.”
The Gospel is an invitation to life everlasting from the Everlasting Man—and with life everlasting comes joy everlasting. Christ promises us that “no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor 2:9). Of course, this offer means nothing if God does not exist. It would mean the Christian labors in vain. At best it would be a nice idea worth spreading to make one feel warm and fuzzy, a safety blanket for the naive. Steven Hawking once proposed that heaven is a “fairy story for people afraid of the dark.” Oxford mathematician John Lennox replied by saying, “Atheism is a fairy story for those afraid of the Light.”
God is not a wishful “projection” of the human mind, as Ludwig Feuerbach and friends have contended. There is far too much external evidence for the existence of God. Thus, theoretical physicist Paul Davies, though not a religious man, has concluded upon analysis of the cosmos: “There is for me powerful evidence that there is something going on behind it all…It seems as though somebody has fine-tuned nature’s numbers to make the Universe…The impression of design is overwhelming.”
A different kind of projection that is, however, a real issue is the skeptic’s projection of human qualities onto God. Thus, when the critic of Christianity says, “If God really existed he would (or would not) do this or that,” what he really means is, “If I were God, I would (or would not) do this or that.” This might be called the anthropomorphic problem of the problem of evil. Contrarily, the God of Christianity is eternal, immaterial, all-powerful, all-knowing, all-present—and yes, all-good and loving. He is not like us in all his perfection but rather wholly other. Therefore, we cannot expect to understand God’s ways absolutely. This is where religious belief comes in—when the human intellect meets its threshold and “informed” faith bursts forward. As a wise English convert to Christianity has reflected: “The poet only asks to get his head into the heavens. It is the logician who seeks to get the heavens into his head. And it is his head that splits.”
This does not mean, however, that Christian faith and the works that flow from it are based irrationally on a grand metaphysical guess about the unseen. Christianity hinges on the person of Jesus, and virtually all New Testament experts today, including the critics, agree that Jesus certainly existed. To add to the testimony of his existence, ancient texts such as the Babylonian Talmud record Jesus to be a worker of wondrous deeds. We have more reliable historical information about Jesus than almost any other major figure in antiquity. (Unfortunately, it is often overlooked that the New Testament writings are also valuable ancient historical texts.)
Furthermore, the miracle claims of Christianity abound and continue to survive rigorous scientific scrutiny. Recognized by researchers are new developments with the Shroud of Turin; naturally inexplicable events like a dancing sun in Fatima confirmed by secular newspapers and hundreds of eyewitnesses; the “bread” of the Eucharist mysteriously changing to uncorrupting human flesh (like in Lanciano, Italy); the incorrupt bodies of deceased saints (like St. Bernadette); and countless records of miraculous cures and healings, such as those in Lourdes, France. This sheds some light on why Christians are so willing to suffer for their faith: they know with their heart, as well as their head, that Jesus is who he claimed to be. And through miraculous events such as these, God has given believers (and unbelievers) a little help.
It must be noted, however, that in Christianity, the heart has a certain primacy over the head; for God judges hearts, not heads. Faith is largely a matter of the heart—indeed, its surrendering, even breaking.
But the choice to be Christian is as much a decision to follow one’s head as a decision to follow one’s heart. Faith stands on the shoulder of reason as we “logic things out” in order to approach (and accept) the mysteries of faith. But I feel that religious faith is not opposed to reason. Reason leads to faith. As St. John Paul the Great has confirmed for us: “Faith and reason are like two wings on which the human spirit rises to the contemplation of truth.”
Sad to say, there are times when my reasoning power is not adequately fulfilling and I lack faith in my ability to meet the challenge I mentioned at the beginning of this piece. Could be that I am not sufficiently saved, and only God can help me now. But then again, why should He when He has 6,928,198,253 other people living in the world to be concerned about? That's just me looking for answers when there are none.
This is all so much hard work for a simple man who is getting slightly tired and somewhat reluctant to call himself a Christian, given what I have just so sanctimoniosly outlined. Personally speaking, there is no joy when in pensive moments I erroneously feel that my beliefs have set me up to fail. I have to remind myself that Jesus died for my sins and I am already saved. I just have to keep acknowleding that fact.
Nevertheless, please heart, don't just yet fail this old sinner who has not always practised what he preached, but meant well!
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