Pi's ponderings on Jesus

This is one of my most choice excerpts from Yann Martel’s novel, The Life of Pi. Twelve-year-old Piscine, or “Pi” for short, was raised Hindu by his mother, but also trained to have a skeptical mind by his atheist father. This sequence takes place while he and his family are on vacation in the northern part of India. His older brother dares him to enter a small Catholic cathedral…which no one in their family had ever done before.

I dared to enter the church.  My stomach was in knots.  I was terrified I would meet a Christian who would shout at me, “What are you doing here? How dare you enter this sacred place, you defiler!  Get out, right now!”

There was no one.  And little to be understood. I advanced and observed the inner sanctum.  There was a painting. Was this the murti? Something about a human sacrifice. An angry god who had to be appeased with blood.  Dazed women staring up in the air and fat babies with tiny wings flying about. A charismatic bird.  Which one was the god?  To the side of the sanctum was a painted wooden sculpture.  The victim again, bruised and bleeding in bold colors.  I stared at his knees.  They were badly scraped. The pink skin was peeled back and looked like the petals of a flower, revealing kneecaps that were fire-engine red.  It was hard to connect this torture with the peaceful priest I had seen from a distance in the rectory the day before.

Catholics have a reputation for severity, for judgment that comes down heavily. My experience with Father Martin was not like that. He was very kind.  He served me tea and biscuits in a tea set that tinkled and rattled at every touch; he treated me like a grown-up; and he told me a story.  Or rather, since Christians are so fond of capital letters, a Story.

And what a story. The first thing that drew me in was disbelief.  What? Humanity sins but its God’s Son who pays the price? I tried to imagine Father saying to me, “Piscine, a lion slipped into the llama pen today and killed two llamas.  Yesterday another one killed a black buck.  Last week to of them ate the camel.  The week before it was painted storks and grey herons.  And who’s to say for sure who snacked on the golden agouti? The situation has become intolerable. Something must be done.  I have decided that the only way the lions can atone for their sins is if I feed you to them.”

“Yes, Father, that would be the right and logical thing to do.  Give me a moment to wash up.”

“Hallelujah, my son.”

“Hallelujah, Father.”

What a downright weird story.  What a peculiar psychology.

I asked for another story, one that I might find more satisfying.  Surely this religion had more than one story in its bag—religions abound with stories.  But Father Martin made me understand that the stories that came before it—and there were many—were simply prologue to the Christians.  Their religion had one Story, and to it they came back again and again, over and over. It was story enough for them.

I was quiet that evening at the hotel.

That a god should put up with adversity, I could understand.  The gods of Hinduism face their fair share of thieves, bullies, kidnappers, and usurpers.  What is the Ramayana but the account of one long, bad day for Rama? Adversity, yes.  Reversals in fortune, yes. Treachery, yes. But humiliation? Death? I couldn’t imagine Lord Krishna consenting to being stripped naked, whipped, mocked, dragged through the streets, and, to top it off, crucified at the hands of mere humans, to boot. I’d never heard of a Hindu god dying. Brahman Revealed did not go for death. Devils and monsters did, as did mortals, by the thousands and millions—that’s what they were there for. Matter, too, fell away.  But divinity should not be blighted by death. It’s wrong…

Why would God wish this upon himself? Why not leave death to the mortals? Why make dirty what was beautiful, spoil what is perfect?

Love.  That was Father Marin’s answer.

And what about this Son’s deportment?  Why did he give himself up? Hindu gods never did that. No spindly cross would’ve kept them down.  When push came to shove, they transcended any human frame with strength no man could have and weapons no man could handle.

That is God as God should be.  With shine and power and might. Such as can rescue and save and put down evil.

This Son, on the other hand, who goes hungry, who suffers from thirst, who gets tired, who is sad, who is anxious, who is heckled and harassed, who has to put up with followers who don’t get it and opponents who don’t respect Him—what kind of god is that? It’s a god on too human a scale, that’s what. There are miracles, yes mostly of a medical nature, a few to satisfy hungry stomachs; at best a storm is tempered, water is briefly walked upon…any Hindu god can do a hundred times better.

This Son is a god who spent most of his time telling stories, talking. This Son is a god who walked, a pedestrian god—and in a hot place, at that—with a stride like any human stride; and when he splurged on transportation, it was a regular donkey. This Son is a god who died in three hours, with moans, gasps, and laments.  What kind of god is that? What is there to inspire in this Son?

Love, said Father Martin.

And this Son appears only once, long ago, far away? Among some obscure tribe in a backwater strip of West Asia on in the confines of a long-vanished empire? Is done away with before He has a single grey hair on His head? Leaves not a single descendant, only scattered, partial testimony, His complete works doodles in the dirt? …What can justify such divine stinginess?

Love, repeated Father Martin.

I’ll stick to my Krishna, thank you very much.  I find his divinity utterly compelling.  You can keep your sweaty, chatty Son to yourself.  That was how I met that troublesome rabbi of long ago: with disbelief and annoyance.

I had tea with Father Martin three days in a row.  Each time, as teacup rattled against saucer, as spoon tinkled against edge of cup, I asked questions.

The answer was always the same.

He bothered me, this Son.  Every day I burned with greater indignation against Him, found more flaws to Him…but I couldn’t get Him out of my head.  Still can’t.  I spent three solid days thinking about Him.  The more He bothered me, the less I could forget Him.  And the more I learned about Him, the less I wanted to leave Him.

On our last day, a few hours before we were to leave Munnar, I hurried up the hill to the cathedral on more time…. short of breath I said, “Father, I would like to be a Christian, please.”

He smiled. “You already are, Piscine—in your heart.  Whoever meets Christ in good faith is a Christian. Here in Munnar you met Christ.”

He patted me on the head.  It was more of a thump, actually. I thought I would explode with joy.

“When you come back, we’ll have tea again, my son.”

“Yes, Father.”

It was a good smile he gave me. The smile of Christ.

I entered the sanctuary, without fear this time, for it was now my house too. I offered prayers to Christ, who is alive. 

(from Life of Pi by Yann Martel, 2001, Random House)

Francis: Pastor, Prophet, Pope

From Sept. 2013 issue of Sojourners Magazine

Francis—refreshingly candid and seemingly repelled by the perks of the papacy—offers new hope for the Catholic Church and beyond.

For Catholics—and many others—what happens in Rome doesn’t stay in Rome. The seating of a new pope has the power to affect believers across the globe, in ways direct, indirect, and unpredictable. And when a surprising sea change occurs in a hide-bound, steeped-in-tradition place like the Vatican—the unexpected resignation of a pope, the selection of a Jesuit from the Americas as his replacement, and the powerful symbolism of a new leader who literally stoops to wash a Muslim woman’s feet—people of faith of all traditions sit up and take notice.

In these early days of Francis’ papacy, we asked three prominent Catholic thinkers and leaders to help us understand what it all might mean. How will the spirit of reform that has marked Pope Francis’ first few months in office affect the worldwide church? Will change at the top trickle down to parishes and neighborhoods here in the United States and elsewhere? And what will Francis’ leadership mean not only for Catholics, but for all people of faith engaged in the work of making justice and building peace? —The Editors

CATHOLICS AROUND THE WORLD are transfixed by Pope Francis. We love his simplicity of life, his humble faith, his welcoming attitude to all, and his way of being Christian in the contemporary world that takes its bearings from the poor. Lace and gilt are no longer fashion statements at the Vatican. From his small apartment, the pope speaks bluntly about worrying less about rules and more about love. An utterly refreshing breeze blows through the Catholic Church.

But what does it really mean for Catholics today? The church still reels with the moral and spiritual damage done by members of the clergy as perpetrators or accomplices in the sex abuse scandals, from fiscal mismanagement, and from institutional infighting. Does Pope Francis change that? And what does the new pope signify for the young, for women, and for the many issues that vex the church’s engagement in today’s world?

In Argentina, Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio—now Pope Francis—was a bishop of the people. He was dedicated to serving the poor who lived in the so-called villas miseria, the shantytown housing surrounding Buenos Aires and elsewhere. Known for his personal humility, Bergoglio eschewed the palatial archbishop’s residence. He chose to live in a small apartment where he cooked his own meals. Stories tell of his traveling the archdiocese by bus and train. His friend Rabbi Abraham Skorka, rector of the Latin American Rabbinical Seminary, has said that among all Bergoglio’s titles, “pastor” best describes the man he knows.

As pope, it has been these same pastoral qualities—his humility and his dedication to the poor—that have so impressed the world. Who can forget the extraordinary Holy Thursday service, just days after becoming pope, where he knelt to wash the feet of young prison inmates, among them a Muslim woman? This was the first time a pope had ever officially washed the foot of a woman. Just as in Buenos Aires, the fancy papal residence was abandoned as this Jesuit pontiff opted to live in only a few small rooms. The pope doesn’t wear Prada. And, from its first days, the gospel’s social teaching has been the central theme of his pontificate. The Catholic Church should be, he told reporters, a “poor church, for the poor.”

Blunt words have been spoken against unbridled capitalism, against consumerism, against what the pontiff has called “a culture of waste” and the “cult of money.” Unchecked capitalism, Pope Francis insists, has fomented “a new, invisible, and at times virtual, tyranny,” and the “worship of the golden calf of old has found a new and heartless image in the cult of money and the dictatorship of an economy which is faceless and lacking any truly humane goal.” Consumerism, he argues, has led to today’s culture of waste.

At a weekly audience in June, Pope Francis explained: “If in so many parts of the world there are children who have nothing to eat, that’s not news; it seems normal. It cannot be this way! Yet these things become the norm: that some homeless people die of cold on the streets is not news. In contrast, a 10-point drop on the stock markets of some cities is ‘a tragedy.’ Thus people are disposed of, as if they were trash.”

Such outrage about economic injustice in no way differs in essence from pronouncements of his predecessor Benedict XVI. But where the magisterial style of his predecessor was reminiscent of a college professor, the language of Pope Francis is that of a Hebrew prophet.

The new pope’s concern for the environment and about caring for creation is also clear. In choosing the name Francis, in honor of St. Francis of Assisi, he was inspired by both the saint’s concern for the poor and his care of creation. In the same June address, for example, Pope Francis invoked the famous lines from Genesis wherein God gives to humankind the responsibility to care for and cultivate the earth. Today, Francis believes, we are derelict in that sacred responsibility. “Driven by pride of domination, of possessions, manipulation, of exploitation,” he maintained, the environment is neglected. “We do not ‘care’ for it, we do not respect it, we do not consider it as a free gift that we must care for.”

Yet in his environmentalism the focus is not material. It’s not automobiles or carbon dioxide or plastic bottles or power plants. The cause of our ecological irresponsibility is moral and anthropological. We are not (perhaps increasingly) the human beings that God created us to be. Pope Francis worries that “[w]e are losing the attitude of wonder, contemplation, listening to creation; thus we are no longer able to read what Benedict XVI calls the rhythm of the love story of God and [humanity].”

Why is this happening? The pontiff contends that it is because we now, more and more, live in a “horizontal manner.” “We have moved away from God, we no longer read [God’s] signs.” For Pope Francis, the root cause of our dereliction of duty to creation, like the root cause of the contemporary world’s grave economic injustice, is an ongoing, profound deformation of the human person. In the same way, he sees a similar deformation of the person at work in policies allowing abortion, euthanasia, the death penalty, and same-sex marriage.

American progressives should understand that Pope Francis perceives the unbridled market of lifestyle and moral “choice” as no different from the unbridled market of economic choice. Both are driven by faceless logics, oblivious to how God created us to be. The pontiff believes that both deform the person, reducing real human beings into mere things to be manipulated, used, and ultimately disposed of like commodities. Speaking at a Mass honoring the gospel of life, he spoke of these forces in the modern world as constructing a new “tower of Babel”—a human-made city without a foundation in God.

No changes in the church’s position on abortion will come from Pope Francis. He is stridently opposed to it and will advance the church’s opposition to laws that support it.  In On Heaven and Earth, his published discussion of current issues with Rabbi Skorka, Bergoglio insisted that a human being is present at the moment of conception. “To not allow further progress in the development of a being that already has the entire genetic code of a human being is not ethical,” he said.

Euthanasia is similarly killing. For the pontiff, euthanasia reflects thinking about human persons as if they are mere things, much as commodities that no longer command value in the marketplace and are simply disposed of in our culture of waste.

Same-sex marriage concerns the pontiff in a similar way. Marriage is a foundational and divinely ordained institution, he believes, not a construct of society; it was laid down by God in creation. Popular opinion or the invisible hands of the free market of lifestyles cannot change that. In his discussion with Rabbi Skorka, Bergoglio described same-sex marriage as “anthropologic regression,” and argued that “[e]very person needs a male father and a female mother that can help them shape their identity.” At the same time, in Argentina he apparently discussed the possibility of civil unions with some openness. It is surprising, too, how muted this pontiff has been about the issue in comparison with his predecessor.

The pontiff’s liberal-seeming positions on matters of economics and creation care and his conservative-seeming positions on abortion, euthanasia, and same-sex marriage are not contradictory, but derive from the singular, seamless fabric of his understanding of the divine plan for the human person, in creation and en route toward salvation.

By some accounts, the internal issues of the institutional Catholic Church hastened the retirement of Benedict XVI. Pope Francis inherits a church whose mission is undercut by a dysfunctional Roman Curia (the central governing body that assists the pope), financial mismanagement, too much centralization in Rome, and a worldwide community of bishops rent by clericalism, turf battles, and ideology. Establishing binding procedures for resolving past and current pedophilia horrors remains an imperative. The place of women in the church is still an issue. The “New Evangelization,” a mission outreach effort begun under John Paul II, is still struggling in its most important effort, that of re-evangelizing Catholic youth.

The pope began his office with immediate steps toward addressing these matters. Among his first decisions was to establish what amounts to an ad hoc cabinet to assess and advise him. This so-called “gang of eight” is comprised of cardinals representing different regions and perspectives within the church, but who are for the most part distanced from the Roman Curia. Expectations are that a significant shake-up of the Curia is in the works, that church-wide procedures for addressing pedophilia are being reconsidered, and that re-empowerment of national bishops’ conferences is coming. Part of what’s behind the Curial shake up is Pope Francis’ impatience with clericalism, the church’s “old boy’s club.” From his first hours as pope, Francis has warned against clericalism, comparing it with heresy for the harm that it does to the Christian community.

Fiscal reform got a boost in June with the appointment of Battista Ricca as head of the troubled Vatican bank. Expect a sweeping reappraisal of the bank’s purpose and operations along with implementation of industry-standard banking practices and transparency. The pope’s hand was evident in the arrest of Nunzio Scarano, a high-ranking cleric and Vatican bank accountant, and in the July resignations of other high-level bank officials.

In the 1980s, the first cases of sex abuse by Catholic clergy in the U.S. began to make national news. Since then, however, the horror of these terrible violations has been discovered in dioceses around the world. Though progress has been made, the clericalism embedded in the traditional structure of the Catholic episcopacy has impeded attempts to develop comprehensive and uniform church-wide or even nationwide procedures for addressing abuse, preventing abuse, and promoting transparency. Many Vatican observers anticipate that Pope Francis wants changes that would overcome the structural impediments to more binding and uniform procedures.

The role of women in the church is a particular interest of the new pope. Throughout his writings he evidences a great appreciation for what women’s strength and leadership mean for every part of society, including for the church. Indeed, he remarks in his discussion with Skorka that if women “are not integrated, a religious community not only transforms into a chauvinist society, but also into one that is austere, hard, and hardly sacred.” He does not support the idea of women priests. But women are increasingly assuming greater leadership in the church. This is something that the pope welcomed in Argentina, and new roles for women in the church under his leadership can surely be expected.

While the Catholic Church is growing rapidly in Africa and parts of Asia, many Catholics are leaving or having only nominal associations with the church in Europe. Young people are at the heart of the new evangelization under Pope Francis—and his message of a “poor church, for the poor” has been well-received among the world’s youth.         

So a fresh breeze is swirling in the Vatican. A new kind of pope is on the Chair of Peter. Pope Francis is blunt-spoken, prophetic, utterly genuine, and seemingly repelled by the perquisites of power. For Americans, the unique charisma of Pope Francis is compelling. As a people, we have no truck with pomp. We celebrate plain talk and pragmatism. We valorize those who serve. And we demand authenticity.

In modern memory, no pope has seemed more reflective of our American ideals than this Argentine Jesuit. We cannot forget the enormity of the challenges that the pope has inherited and faces, perhaps the greatest being his own radical hope for a Christianity that is a poor church, for the poor. It is that radical hope, however, that holds out the greatest promise for us all.

Stephen F. Schneck is director of the Institute for Policy Research and Catholic Studies at the Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C.

An Open Letter to Christopher Hitchens

I am saddened at the passing of Christopher Hitchens, who died two days at age 62 after a long bout with cancer. Here is a piece I wrote regarding Hitchens five years ago…

The new book of Mother Teresa’s personal letters entitled Come Be My Light, has created a stir because many of the confessional pieces she penned over a fifty year period of her ministry to the poor in Calcutta demonstrated that she at times had doubts about God. She asks hard questions, and wrestles with God’s silence towards her appeals for intervention and encouragement. Mixed in with these struggles, however, are many statements of her contentment, her trust in Jesus, and her devotion to God and what He called her to.

Christopher Hitchens, a political pundit, literature critic, and public statesmen for atheism (in fact, he is so aggressive in his vitriol about all things transcendent that he calls himself an Anti-Theist), was asked by Newsweek to write a commentary on Come Be My Light. An interesting choice by those editors, considering that Hitchens wrote a scathing appraisal of Mother Teresa’s life and ministry in his 1995 book, Missionary Position, where he alleged she was a fake and had considerable ties to unsavory political leaders. I mean, it’s akin to asking someone who has willingly cut off both arms and legs to give the critique on cycling to those who are riding. From a different perspective, wouldn’t Christopher find it strange if Pat Robertson were asked by Time to criticize the teachings of Madalyn Murray O’Hair?

Hitchens has carved out a slice of modern media attention with his writings and regular appearances on TV and radio. Many find him intimidating because he is blessed with a stout intellect, and utilizes his acerbic wit to argue cleverly. But in many ways, he has become the Anne Coulter or Janeane Garofalo of atheists…a wonk who makes a living by complaint and stirring the pot with shrill and sweeping accusations all intended to sell more books. All the while offering little to nothing in ways to actually improve the situation. It strikes me at times that they are the ilk that William James spoke of when he stated, “A great many people think they are thinking when they are merely rearranging their prejudices.”

I give Christopher credit for pondering issues deeply, and doing research on his opinions. But when all is said and done, his opinions on God in general, and Christianity in particular, are just that: opinions.

With that in mind, here is an open letter to Mr. Hitchens…

Dear Christopher,

I have heard you on many occasions, and have read a fair amount of your work. I appreciate your keen mind, and have often chuckled at your humorous observations on things political. I’ve even found some of your views on God, and the abuses of organized religion in His name to be stimulating.

But when it comes to your attacks on Mother Teresa, I am puzzled as to your relentless dogma. It seems odd, that someone like you who is so unsure about God’s existence and any set of moral rules in which to live by would simultaneously hold someone else so accountable for having any doubts. It would seem to me that you would actually rejoice that someone else had misgivings in their faith from time to time, rather than admonishing her.

However, my point in writing goes beyond that. From my perspective, and most anyone who has walked in faith for any amount of time, the very presence of doubt should be of great solace. I don’t think you realize that faith cannot exist without doubt. And, in your case, the opposite is equally true: you cannot have doubt without a little faith being present. In our human and finite condition, we most certainly are not capable of understanding infinite truth and all encompassing knowledge. Hence, we have created Science to study all that is before us, and often to hypothesize about where we are headed. We have Philosophy and Religion to try to put all these “unanswerables” into some narrative context…attempts to systematize our feelings. We have Art and Literature to creatively reflect upon the place we find ourselves in—both good and bad. I am thankful for that outlet for our angst or celebration.

You will have to admit, Christopher, that so much of what we find ourselves swirling around in, whether the greater cosmos or the complexity of the human heart, involves a degree of the transcendent—all that lies beyond the ordinary range of perception.

Finite minds cannot understand infinity. Period. Quit trying to act like you or anyone else can. It is beyond our scope of comprehension. This is where doubt comes in. If anyone of us feels we have fully arrived at complete understanding or all-encompassing divine revelation (or in your case, a lack of one) we are sorely deceived. As Frederick Buechner said, “whether your faith is that there is a God or that there is not a God, if you don’t have any doubts you are either kidding yourself or asleep.”

I like the way Oswald Chambers looked at it, and, I think with your inquisitive mind, you will as well: “Doubt is not always a sign that a man is wrong; it may be a sign that he is thinking.”

Even your fellow atheist, John Paul Satre, recognized this when he said, “a finite point has no meaning unless it has an infinite reference point.” But since he and the rest of us cannot clearly locate the reference point on our own, let alone understand it, we are hovering in the ether of uncertainty.

This is where faith in something bigger than our understanding comes in. The immensity and order of the known universe certainly point towards something or someone who set it in motion and gave it design. Most every scientist now adheres to the “Big Bang” theory…that the universe exploded outward in a blinding instant of massive creativity billions of years ago. So if it was created from nothingness…then it had to have an instigator…a creator.

Since neither you or I or anyone else in the brief 5,000 or so years of written human history were present for this event, we can only surmise as to the When and How. That is mind-boggling enough. But when we enter into the Who and (perhaps most perplexing of all) the Why questions, that is where we wrestle with ultimate meaning.

For a pure empiricist as yourself, Christopher, you stand by the viewpoint that “seeing is believing,” and that direct knowledge is the only real knowledge. My friend Jim Thomas responds this way:

The weakness of empiricism is that it would have to exclude knowledge of things we cannot taste, touch, smell, hear, or see such as magnetism, gravity, wind, electricity, hope, love, justice, or goodness. And ultimately, the principle “seeing is believing” would have to be excluded from empiricism as well, as it is a concept and not something one can “see.”

Belief relies on observation and experience, but it also adds the element of common sense based on human reason. Belief involves raw data coming in through the five senses, which is then organized by human reasoning, evaluated for credibility, discerned morally, and then, in the end, judged by a person’s common sense. Belief involves the senses, the mind, the will, and the heart of a person. They work together to convince us that something is true. There are varying degrees of conviction in our beliefs. These sometimes fluctuate, but ultimately we choose, either actively or passively, what we will believe. Of course, what we choose to believe does not in any way affect the nature of reality. We might very well believe things which are not true. Whether you believe in God or not does not alter whether or not God actually exists. But for the rational person, the goal would be to discover and believe those things which are true, those things which correspond with reality.

Knowledge and belief show up in many areas of our lives. I know there is a car parked in my driveway, But I believe that love between two people is something that is real even though it is often unpredictable and not as verifiable or consistent. I know that fire is hot, but I believe that murder is morally wrong.

In the sense in which I have defined the terms, belief is deeper than knowledge because belief involves more human faculties than knowledge does. This does not mean that belief and knowledge must stand opposite and against each other. To the contrary, to get to the truth of a matter, especially in terms of faith, they must stand side by side. As Blaise Pascal said “Faith indeed tells what the senses do not tell, but not the contrary of what they see. It is above them and not contrary to them.”

If one truly believes that there is no God, and hence, no source of rights and wrongs, morals, or even the unpredictable emotion we know as “love,” then they should never shed a tear due to death or suffering. Because to them, ultimately, a loved one’s death should have no more significance than a rock falling into the water, since there is ultimately no point or reason behind our existence.

Even your fellow atheist, Frederich Nietzche, hit the nail on the head when he said, “He who has a WHY to live can bear almost any HOW.”

Like muscle and bone, faith and doubt are intertwined into our souls. The skeleton needs the intertwining sinew, and those chords and the surrounding flesh would have no structure without the frame. That balance is crucial. One cannot exist without the other. It is not and either/or proposition. It is both/and. Rationality and emotion…hurt and healing…anticipation and arrival…faith and doubt. It often makes no sense, and certainly does not always feel right; but it is indeed what makes us fully human.

Because Mother Teresa has shown vulnerability in these letters and in her prayers (indeed, she was open about these haunting doubts in other writings and discussions over the years), makes her all the more human, despite the nearly super-human efforts she demonstrated on behalf of the poor. And it is misleading to try and make Come Be My Light into some sort of declaration of her apostasy for there are plenty of positive confessions of her deep and abiding love for God permeating those pages in between her dark nights of the soul.

The Bible is full of people who had doubts. David, whether he was a teenager experiencing God’s provision while escaping the wrath of jealous authorities, or when he eventually became king, left prevalent testimony of his deep anguish throughout the Psalms. Those poems that bemoan his pain and open acrimony towards God---those “Psalms of Lament--- make up 40% of that entire book. And despite that rancor, the Bible later refers to David as “a man after my God’s own heart.”

John the Baptist, who had been full of so much confidence in the message of the Messiah’s impending arrival, and even baptized Christ, later became full of profound doubt when he was imprisoned and about to have his head chopped off. He sent messengers to Christ asking hard questions about whether he was truly the promised one. In his response back, Jesus didn’t admonish or even reject John for having these doubts…but he encouraged him in the midst of his pain.

Look at Jesus himself. Ultimately, this is one of the very attributes that draws people to Christ, for even He wrestled with doubt. He agonized about His impending fate in the Garden of Gethsemane the night before his mockery of a trial and barbaric crucifixion. And while hanging beaten and bleeding on that Roman cross he cried out with bitter tears “My God, why have You forsaken me?!”

Christopher, as I read your works and listen to your complaints on television, I often wonder who might have disappointed you so greatly earlier in your life. I ponder if you felt forsaken somewhere along the way, or someone claiming to represent God might have hurt you deeply. My guess is this is so, because nearly every atheist I have ever met or studied is carrying profound anger and bitterness of this sort from earlier in their life.

I am sorry this may have happened with you. I hurt for you. I have felt similar anguish at times in my life. And even as a follower of Christ now, I still experience frustration and doubt. As Bono has said, “Being a Christian does not give me all the answers…if anything, it has given me a whole new set of questions.”

I am convinced that God encourages these questions. He is not threatened by our complaints. In fact, it would seem that he even invites them, or at least allows us the right to let him know we are not satisfied with the perplexity of being finite beings with souls that ache for infinite knowledge.

But this is where faith comes into the quotient. The strength of Mother Teresa’s faith is not found in her. It was not about how much faith she had in terms of volume or quantity. It was not about drumming up a level of emotional confidence. It was not about setting her mind on a fixed course and refusing all doubt. It was more about having a humble heart, one that admitted its weakness and looked to God for refreshment and strength. It was and is about her recognizing that the object of her faith (and doubt) was also the source of her faith.

My hope, Christopher, is that your questions haven’t transformed into set-in-stone attitude, because that would seem to be contradictory to your probing mind. You strike me as ultimately being curious. All I ask is that you allow others to be curious in their exploration of the transcendent…allow others to demonstrate weakness and doubt.

A one-time fellow atheist, the brilliant G.K. Chesterton, ended up reversing his belief after he was established as a writer and social commentator in turn-of-the century England. He sums up my point well: “The riddles of God are more satisfying than the solutions of man.”

Humbly,

Mark

Honolulu, Whores, and a Hollowed Moment

Sociologist, author, speaker, and Christian activist Tony Campolo shares this from his book, Let Me Tell You a Story:

If you live on the East Coast and travel to Hawaii, you know that there is a time difference that makes three o’clock in the morning feel like 9:00 AM. With that in mind, you will understand that whenever I go out to our fiftieth state I find myself wide awake long before dawn. Not only do I find myself up and ready to go while everybody else is still asleep, but I find that I want breakfast when almost everything on the island is still closed—which is why I was wandering up and down the streets of Honolulu at 3:30 in the morning, looking for a place to get something to eat.

Up a side street I found a little place that was still open. I went in, took a seat on one of those stools at the counter, and waited to be served. This was one of those sleazy places that deserves the name “greasy spoon.” I mean, I did not even touch the menu. I was afraid that if I opened the thing something gruesome would crawl out. But it was the only place I could find.

The fat guy behind the counter came over and asked me, What d’ya want?”

I told him, “A cup of coffee and a donut.”

He poured a cup of joe, wiped his grimy hand on his smudged apron, then grabbed a pastry off the shelf behind him. Now, I’m a realist… I know that in the back room of that restaurant, donuts are probably dropped on the floor and kicked around. But when everything is out front where I can see it, I really would have appreciated it if he had used a pair of tongs and placed the donut on some wax paper.

As I sat there munching on my dry sinker and sipping my lukewarm brew about three hours before sunrise, the door of the diner swung open, and to my discomfort, in marched eight or nine provocative and boisterous prostitutes.

It was a small place and they sat on either side of me. Their talk was loud and crude. I felt completely out of place and was just about to make my getaway when I overheard the woman sitting beside me say, “Tomorrow’s my birthday. I’m going to be thirty-nine.”

One of her friends responded in a nasty tone, “So what do you want from me? A birthday party? What do you want? Ya want me to get a cake and sing ‘Happy Birthday’?”

“Come on!” said the woman next to me. “Why do you have to be so mean? I was just telling you, that’s all. Why do you have to put me down? I was just telling you it’s my birthday. I don’t want anything from you. I mean, why should you give me a birthday party? I’ve never had a birthday party in my whole life. I should I have one now?”

When I heard that, I made a decision. I sat and waited until the women left. Then I called the fat guy behind the counter and I asked him, “Do they come in here every night?”

“Yeah,” he answered.

“The one who was right next to me, does she come here every night?”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s Agnes. Yeah, she comes in here every night. Why d’ya wanna know?”

“Because I heard her say that tomorrow is her birthday,” I told him. “What do you think about us throwing a birthday party for her—right here—tomorrow night?”

A smile slowly crossed his chubby face and he answered with measured delight. “That’s great….I like it….that’s a great idea!” Calling to his wife, who did the cooking in the back room, he shouted, “Hey, come out here! This guy’s got a great idea. Tomorrow is Agnes’s birthday. This guy wants to go in with him and throw a birthday party for her—right here—tomorrow night!”

His wife comes out of the kitchen all bright and smiley. She said, “That’s wonderful! You know Agnes is one of those people who is really nice and kind, and nobody ever does anything nice and kind for her.”

“Look,” I told them, “if it’s OK with you, I’ll get back here tomorrow morning about 2:30 and decorate the place. I’ll even get a birthday cake!”

“No way,” said Harry (that was his name). “The birthday cake’s my thing. I’ll make the cake.”

At 2:30 the next morning I was back at the diner. I had picked up some crepe paper and other decorations at a store, got some balloons, and had made a sign out of big pieces of cardboard that read “Happy Birthday Agnes!” I decorated that diner from one end to the other. I had that joint looking good.

The woman who did the cooking, Jan, must have gotten the word out on the street, because by 3:15 every prostitute in Honolulu was in the place. It was wall-to-wall call girls…and me!

At 3:30 on the dot, the door of the diner swung open and in came Agnes and her friend. I had everyone ready (after all, I was kind of MC of the affair) and when they came in we all screamed “Happy Birthday!!”

Never have I seen a person so flabbergasted…so stunned…so shaken. Her mouth fell open. Her legs seemed to buckle a bit. Her friend grabbed her arm to steady her. As she was led to one of the stools along the counter we sang “Happy Birthday” to her. When we came to the end of our singing, “happy birthday, dear Agnes, happy birthday to you,” her eyes moistened. Then, when the birthday cake with all the candles on it was carried out, she lost it and just openly cried.

Harry gruffly mumbled, “Blow out the candles, Agnes! Come one! Blow out the candles!” She just kept staring at the cake. “If you don’t blow out the candles, I’m gonna have to blow them out.” And, after another long delay, he finally grew impatient and did blow them out. Then he handed her the knife and told her, “Cut the cake, Agnes. Yo, Agnes….we all want some cake.”

Agnes stared down at the cake. There was another pregnant pause. Then, without taking her eyes off it, she slowly and softly said, “Look, Harry, is it alright with you if I…I mean is it OK if I kind of…what I want to ask you is…is it OK if I keep the cake a little while? I mean is it alright if we don’t eat it right away?”

Harry shrugged and answered, “Sure…it’s OK. If ya want to keep the cake, then keep the cake. Take it home if ya want to.”

“Can I?” she responded. Then looking at me she said, “I live just down the street a couple of doors. I want to take the cake home and show it to my mother, okay? I’ll be right back…honest!”

She got off the stool, picked up the cake, and carrying it like it was the Holy Grail, walked slowly out the door. As we all stood there motionless, she left.

When the door closed there was a stunned silence in the packed diner. Not knowing what else to do, I broke the awkward quiet by saying “What do you say we pray for Agnes?”

Looking back on it now it seems more than strange for a sociologist to be leading a prayer meeting with a bunch of prostitutes in a greasy spoon in Honolulu at 3:30 in the morning. But it just felt like the right thing to do. I prayed for Agnes. I prayed for her salvation. I prayed that her life would be changed and that God would be good to her.

When I finished, Harry leaned over the counter and said “Hey…you never told me you were a preacher. What kind of church do you belong to?”

In one of those moments when just the right words came, I answered, “I belong to a church that throws birthday parties for whores at 3:30 in the morning.”

Harry waited a moment, then he answered, “No you don’t…there’s no church like that. If there was, I’d join it. I would sure as Hell join a church like that!”

Wouldn’t we all? Wouldn’t we all love to join a church that throws birthday parties for whores at 3:30 in the morning? Well, that’s the kind of church Jesus came to create. I don’t know where we got the other one that’s so prim and proper. But anybody who reads the New Testament will discover a Jesus who loved to party with whores and with all kinds of left-out people…the publicans and the “sinners” loved Him because he partied with them. The lepers of society found in Him someone who would eat and drink with them. And while the solemnly pious could not relate to what He was about, those lonely people who usually didn’t get invited to parties took to Him with excitement.

Our Jesus was and is the Lord of the party. That’s what we as His followers should make blatantly clear. We should highlight an often-forgotten dimension of what Christianity is all about: The Kingdom of God is a party!

My next installment will tell the rest of the story—about what happened with Agnes.