The other day, I was mulling over atheism, and I realized that atheists are actually pretty remarkable. Think about it: The effort it would take to ignore God is astounding.
God is inescapable. We’re surrounded by Him—in beauty, art, and music but also in speech, movement, and touch; in the air, in our coffee, in our favorite pillow. We’re apprehended daily by a million clues—and by clues I don’t mean only whispers but also thundering roars. If we cry when we see the ocean (like I do!), we might think it’s because the ocean is magnificent and wild and achingly beautiful, but, even more so, the ocean reflects its Creator, the Magnificent and Wild and Beautiful One. “Here I am!” He says again and again, day after day.
To deny what we inherently know in the face of beauty is to resist the discernable God.
To imagine myself as an unbeliever, I’d have to shut myself away, sit on the floor of a dark and empty closet, insulated against every shaft of sunlight, against every birdcall, against even the mundane—the wood grain of an old chair, the taste of an egg, the texture of porcelain. And still I couldn’t escape Him because I would feel Him in the way He has knit my bones and tendons together to allow me to sit on the floor of that closet. He’s even in the darkness and the silence; in fact, He sometimes speaks louder in the darkness and silence than anywhere else. I can’t escape Him.
And that’s good news for me because if I were to escape Him for even a moment, I don’t know how I’d cope. The concept of atheism is thought-provoking, but it’s also the greatest heartbreak. To live day after day (or event a moment) through sorrow and joy, through the tedious and the electrifying, while believing it’s all meaningless because we are accidents of nature and products of chemical combinations… I can’t think of a worse tragedy.
Where do you hear Him? See Him? Taste, smell, and feel Him?