Godless (8 page)
I kept driving until I came to a dirt road out in the middle of nowhere, and I heard, “Turn here.” I turned and drove about a half-mile to a dead end in the middle of a cornfield. I stopped my car and turned off the engine, looking around for whatever it was that God had in mind. I really expected someone to come walking out of the corn, or something like that. After about 15 minutes I began to feel rather stupid. Then a few minutes later I realized that there must have been some other reason why God would bring me out to the dead-end of a dirt road. It finally dawned on me: God was testing my faithfulness! With a warm feeling all over my body I felt the Spirit say, “I am proud of you, Dan. You are an obedient child. You can go now.”
Since I have become an atheist I often hear from believers who tell me that I could not possibly have been a true Christian or I would never have left Christianity. If I had truly known Jesus personally, like they do, then I would never have denied him. I must have been merely pretending to convince myself that God was real, they insist. Well, yes, I know exactly what they are saying. I used to preach that sermon. I preached it, believed it, knew it and felt it. If I did not have an authentic relationship with God, then why not? Why would God reveal himself to
them
, and not to me? I read the same bible, prayed with an open, humble spirit, and received inner confirmation of a “presence” witnessing to the truth of what I believed. If what I felt was phony, why would a good God allow me to be so deceived? (And how does anyone else know they are not being deceived as well?)
them
, and not to me? I read the same bible, prayed with an open, humble spirit, and received inner confirmation of a “presence” witnessing to the truth of what I believed. If what I felt was phony, why would a good God allow me to be so deceived? (And how does anyone else know they are not being deceived as well?)
I had no doubts at all that what I experienced was authentic, not until near the end of my ministry. I sometimes ask these people, “Who are
you
to decide who is a true Christian?” Jesus said, “Ye shall know them by their fruits” and my life exhibited the “fruits of the spirit.” Paul wrote that “the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.” I was not perfect—nobody is—but judging by the bible, no one else can make a stronger claim to being a Christian. I had been “born again” and believed it and announced it. I had been “filled with the spirit” and lived it. I had dedicated myself to a life of ministry. I was a “doer of the Word, not a hearer only.” I had lived by faith, putting my life, health and future on the line—how many “true believers” have done that? I prayed, spoke in tongues and “sang in the spirit.” I searched the scriptures for guidance. I knew that Jesus was my friend, lord and savior, and I had a daily inner dialogue with him, asking for help and praising him for his blessings. I had brought people to faith in Jesus and had seen many converts. I had heard countless testimonies of believers who told me they felt the “spirit of God” on my ministry (unless they were not true Christians either). There are people in the ministry today who credit me with helping to inspire them to preach and become ministers. I was invited and re-invited to minister in hundreds of Christian churches. How many “true Christians” can say they have done as much? The reason I rejected Christianity was not because I did not understand or experience it. It wasn’t because I despised God or hated the Christian life. I loved what I was doing and never imagined throwing it away.
you
to decide who is a true Christian?” Jesus said, “Ye shall know them by their fruits” and my life exhibited the “fruits of the spirit.” Paul wrote that “the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.” I was not perfect—nobody is—but judging by the bible, no one else can make a stronger claim to being a Christian. I had been “born again” and believed it and announced it. I had been “filled with the spirit” and lived it. I had dedicated myself to a life of ministry. I was a “doer of the Word, not a hearer only.” I had lived by faith, putting my life, health and future on the line—how many “true believers” have done that? I prayed, spoke in tongues and “sang in the spirit.” I searched the scriptures for guidance. I knew that Jesus was my friend, lord and savior, and I had a daily inner dialogue with him, asking for help and praising him for his blessings. I had brought people to faith in Jesus and had seen many converts. I had heard countless testimonies of believers who told me they felt the “spirit of God” on my ministry (unless they were not true Christians either). There are people in the ministry today who credit me with helping to inspire them to preach and become ministers. I was invited and re-invited to minister in hundreds of Christian churches. How many “true Christians” can say they have done as much? The reason I rejected Christianity was not because I did not understand or experience it. It wasn’t because I despised God or hated the Christian life. I loved what I was doing and never imagined throwing it away.
If I was not a true Christian, then nobody is.
Chapter Two
The Fall
It was 1979 and Jesus had not returned.
I was invited to speak at an American Baptist Church in Ontario, California, and before the meeting the pastor and I were talking in his office. I was surprised to hear him say, “We have a couple of members of our church who do not believe Adam and Eve were historical people.”
“What?” I thought. “And you let them remain members?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I believe Adam and Eve were historical people, because the bible does not tell lies. But these members think the story may have been metaphor. Since they are great Christians, I don’t think this small disagreement is enough to matter.”
The pastor continued by saying that some people consider parts of the bible that
appear
historical to be simply stories with a moral lesson. They believe that when Jesus told the Parable of the Prodigal Son, he did not intend us to think that there existed an actual prodigal son person with an address and Social Security number. It is not the historical fact of the tale that is important—it is the underlying message that counts. If Jesus can make up stories, why can’t other biblical writers? Some people think the story of Adam and Eve was a Hebrew parable created by the ancient Israelites to explain the origin of the sinful human race, and the moral lesson is what is important, not the physical existence of two protohumans, with or without navels.
appear
historical to be simply stories with a moral lesson. They believe that when Jesus told the Parable of the Prodigal Son, he did not intend us to think that there existed an actual prodigal son person with an address and Social Security number. It is not the historical fact of the tale that is important—it is the underlying message that counts. If Jesus can make up stories, why can’t other biblical writers? Some people think the story of Adam and Eve was a Hebrew parable created by the ancient Israelites to explain the origin of the sinful human race, and the moral lesson is what is important, not the physical existence of two protohumans, with or without navels.
I was shocked by this kind of talk. Liberal talk. The fundamentalist mindset does not allow this latitude. To the fundamentalist there is no gray area. Everything is black or white, true or false, right or wrong. Jesus reportedly said: “I wish that you were cold or hot. So because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth.” (Revelation 3:15-16, and not a very nice image.) As a fundamentalist, I used to dislike liberals more than atheists, because with atheists, you at least knew where they stood. (This was a principle only: I didn’t actually know any atheists—well, I probably did, but I didn’t know that I knew any atheists. That ought to tell us something right there.) Atheists are cold and true Christians are hot, but liberals are lukewarm. Liberals have “a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof” and offer more of a temptation away from devout faith than any atheist could pose. I felt that attempting to learn what a liberal Christian believes was like trying to nail Jell-O to a tree.
The next time you talk with an extreme fundamentalist, beware. If you use gray talk—relativistic, situational, provisional, tentative—that will translate to black. That is why the issue of Adam and Eve was so distressing to me. I’m embarrassed to admit this now, but it was a big deal back then, and still is to bible literalists. (Yes, even fundamentalists know there is metaphor in the bible. When Jesus said “I am the door” we did not think he had hinges or a doorknob. But in the absence of any indication or justification for treating the plain words of the text figuratively, we had to take it at face value.)
In order to maintain a fellowship with Christians who had a slightly different view, I made this little shift in my mind, a move that to most readers would seem simple enough, but to me was a huge and dangerous leap. I did not jettison the historical Adam and Eve—that would have been too much and impossible at the time. What I did was say, “Okay, I believe Adam and Eve were historical, of course, because the bible does not indicate Genesis is a parable or metaphor, but that should not stop me from fellowshipping with believers who might feel differently about it.” Those Christians who had a tiny variance from my theology were not bad people. They worshipped God and promoted Christianity. They were not going to hell for a sincere difference of opinion. I could still call them brothers or sisters in Christ. That was a little nudge in the direction of tolerance, but a gargantuan spiritual (and psychological) concession to make. I discovered that I could live with a small amount of gray. Not that I liked it, but I could do it.
That was the first of many little steps over the next few years. Those initial and timid movements away from fundamentalism were psychologically more traumatic than the intellectual flying leaps that came later. When you are raised to believe that every word in the bible is God-inspired and inerrant, you can’t lightly moderate your views on scripture.
I was about 30 years old when I started to have these early questions about Christianity. Not doubts, just questions. I was working on two more musicals for Manna Music—
Everywhere That Mary Went
and
Penny
, about the one lost lamb that was missing from the fold of 100—which I never finished because my views were changing as I was trying to write. The continental plates were shifting imperceptibly. I didn’t have any problems at that time with Christianity. I loved my Christian life, I believed in what I was doing, and it felt right. However, my mind must have been restless to move beyond the simplicities of fundamentalism. I had been so involved with fundamentalist and evangelical matters that I had been ignoring a part of myself that was beginning to ask for attention. It was as if there were this little knock on my skull and something was saying, “Hello! Anybody home?” I was starving and didn’t know it, like when you are working hard on a project and you forget to eat and you don’t know you are hungry until you are
really
hungry. I had been reading the Christian writers (Francis Schaeffer, Josh McDowell, C. S. Lewis, etc.) and really had not read much of anything else besides the bible for years. So, not with any real purpose in mind, I began to scratch this intellectual itch. I read some science magazines, some philosophy, psychology and daily newspapers (!), and began to catch up on the true liberal arts education I would have had years before if I had gone to a real college. This triggered what later became a ravenous appetite to learn, and produced a slow but steady migration across the theological spectrum that took about four or five years.
Everywhere That Mary Went
and
Penny
, about the one lost lamb that was missing from the fold of 100—which I never finished because my views were changing as I was trying to write. The continental plates were shifting imperceptibly. I didn’t have any problems at that time with Christianity. I loved my Christian life, I believed in what I was doing, and it felt right. However, my mind must have been restless to move beyond the simplicities of fundamentalism. I had been so involved with fundamentalist and evangelical matters that I had been ignoring a part of myself that was beginning to ask for attention. It was as if there were this little knock on my skull and something was saying, “Hello! Anybody home?” I was starving and didn’t know it, like when you are working hard on a project and you forget to eat and you don’t know you are hungry until you are
really
hungry. I had been reading the Christian writers (Francis Schaeffer, Josh McDowell, C. S. Lewis, etc.) and really had not read much of anything else besides the bible for years. So, not with any real purpose in mind, I began to scratch this intellectual itch. I read some science magazines, some philosophy, psychology and daily newspapers (!), and began to catch up on the true liberal arts education I would have had years before if I had gone to a real college. This triggered what later became a ravenous appetite to learn, and produced a slow but steady migration across the theological spectrum that took about four or five years.
I was not aiming for doubt or atheism. I thought each little move was the last one. “Ah, I’m growing more mature in my beliefs,” I told myself. I originally thought my faith was being strengthened by this additional information, when it was actually my knowledge that was being strengthened. I had no sudden, eye-opening experience. When you are raised like I was, you don’t just wake up one morning, snap your fingers and say, “Oh, silly me! There’s no God.” It was a slow, sometimes wrenching, halting, circuitous process.
Since I had become an independent evangelist, with no local congregation to answer to (the church in Standard did not end up functioning as a home base), I perhaps felt freer to experiment intellectually and to investigate what other Christians believed. I didn’t study nonbelief (how would I know how to do that?), I studied other believers. As I visited different congregations that represented many varieties of faith, it slowly dawned on me that there is no single Christianity—there are thousands of Christianities. (There may be as many Christianities as there are Christians.) There are many hundreds of denominations and sects, and each one of them can open the bible and prove that
theirs
is the correct interpretation and the others are all off in some way, either slightly aberrant or grossly wrong. They can all do that.
theirs
is the correct interpretation and the others are all off in some way, either slightly aberrant or grossly wrong. They can all do that.
Paul wrote that “God is not the author of confusion,” but can you think of a book that has caused more confusion than the bible?
Jesus still had not returned, obviously, and I began to realize that it was not going to happen
.
Every generation of Christians, including the first, has thought they were living in the “end times.” Jesus is reported as telling his disciples, “There be some standing here, which shall not taste of death, till they see the Son of man coming in his kingdom.” (Matthew 16:28) He promised, “Behold I come quickly.” (Revelation 3:11) But 2,000 years is not “quickly.” It slowly dawned on me—duh—that something was very wrong with what I believed. “Oh,” I thought. “I guess I am growing up here.”
.
Every generation of Christians, including the first, has thought they were living in the “end times.” Jesus is reported as telling his disciples, “There be some standing here, which shall not taste of death, till they see the Son of man coming in his kingdom.” (Matthew 16:28) He promised, “Behold I come quickly.” (Revelation 3:11) But 2,000 years is not “quickly.” It slowly dawned on me—duh—that something was very wrong with what I believed. “Oh,” I thought. “I guess I am growing up here.”
Gradually, I began to swing across the theological continuum, becoming less and less fundamentalist and more of a moderate evangelical. I was accepting invitations to preach and sing in a variety of churches, mostly evangelical, but also in some moderate and liberal congregations that had performed my music. My sermons began to have less hell and more love. I talked less about the afterlife and more about living
this
life. (I was raising four growing kids by now.) I was still a strong, committed believer, but preaching less evangelism and more “Christian walk.”
this
life. (I was raising four growing kids by now.) I was still a strong, committed believer, but preaching less evangelism and more “Christian walk.”
I vividly remember driving the freeways of southern California and running all of this through my mind, talking with “God,” talking with myself, arguing, rebutting, weighing emotion against reason, asking what it was all about. One thought kept rising to the surface, as if spoken from somewhere else: “Something is wrong.” I couldn’t figure it out. I couldn’t really articulate the questions properly, but a voice in my mind kept saying, “Something is wrong. Admit it.” I think that was the voice of honesty—I knew it was not the voice of God.
I think it was at this point that I made the leap, not to atheism, but to the commitment to follow reason and evidence wherever they might lead, even if it meant taking me away from my cherished beliefs. As the months passed, that voice kept getting louder: “Something is wrong.”
After a couple of years of this process of reevaluation, I had migrated into a more moderate position, where I still held the basic theological beliefs but discarded many lesser doctrines as either nonessential or untrue. I remember the way I was thinking then: every Christian has a particular hierarchy of doctrines and practices, and most Christians arrange their hierarchy in roughly the same manner. The existence of God is at the top, the deity of Jesus just below that, and so on down to the bottom of the list, where you find issues like whether women should wear jewelry or makeup in church. What distinguishes many brands of Christianity is where they draw their line between what is essential and what is not. Extreme fundamentalists draw the line way down at the bottom of the list, making all doctrines above it equally necessary. Moderates draw the line somewhere up in the middle of the list. Liberals draw the line way up at the top, not caring if the bible is inerrant or if Jesus existed historically, but holding on to the existence of God, however he or she is defined, maintaining the general usefulness of religion, and valuing rituals to give structure or meaning to life.
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