11. Stumbling Blocks

I did not become a believer overnight. However, I began to ask, seek, and knock on the door, and found that if I kept doing those three things I gained understanding in the areas where I had struggled. Following the “What do I have to lose?” argument, I started to discard pieces of my doubt and chose to believe. I would avoid nit-picking and scoffing at every bit of the Old Testament that didn’t make perfect sense in the 21st century, and instead look for an overarching meaning, with a greater focus on the New Testament. This intention of mine lacked originality, as I recalled Chapter 4 of the AA Big Book describing my exact condition:

We used to amuse ourselves by cynically dissecting spiritual beliefs and practices when we might have observed that many spiritually-minded persons of all races, colors, and creeds were demonstrating a degree of stability, happiness and usefulness which we should have sought ourselves.

Instead, we looked at the human defects of these people, and sometimes used their shortcomings as a basis of wholesale condemnation. We talked of intolerance, while we were intolerant ourselves. We missed the reality and the beauty of the forest because we were diverted by the ugliness of some its trees. We never gave the spiritual side of life a fair hearing.

All true. In the margins of my confirmation Bible from high school, I had scribbled in cynical comments alongside Genesis verses, as I had read the book literally to point out the contradictions. From the start I had issues, from the first pages, since not one but two creation stories occurred. In college I had read Native American creation stories, Hawaiian myths, Greek and other stories, and so I had tossed in the Hebrew book of Genesis with the lot, discounting it as nothing more than another myth. Rather, I considered it the dominant myth of creation, but no more correct than stories of Greek Zeus or Hawaiian Pele.

However, whenever I read any of those creation stories I marveled at how over space and time, separated groups of humans came up with similar ideas about the beginning, as if there were an intrinsic knowledge or capability of understanding the world we lived in. Primitive or not, we all have stories to explain the world around us. What struck me is that all of these peoples found an origin story, because they needed the spiritual presence in their life to explain why there is something rather than nothing. Why does anything exist?

Just as all kids do, I remember thinking of the universe and how it could not go on forever, that a meteor could not continue on to infinity, because I could not fathom infinity. Somewhere there must be a place where it ends, like where the vacuum of empty space just turns into a fuzzy TV screen. I often thought of a “backstop,” as on a baseball field, where if the ball gets past the catcher, it doesn’t roll forever. There’s a backstop to halt the ball. The universe had to have a backstop or fence, or some kind of ending and beginning. Furthermore, something had to be first, as something could not come from nothing.

The one thing that kept me from ever truly abandoning Catholicism, even as an atheist or agnostic, was the pursuit of science among its clergy. The Church has a lot of nerds in it who ponder these questions. As science had become my new religion, I considered the Big Bang the answer to the origin of the universe. When I first learned that it was a Christian scientist that came up with the theory, I felt a bit shocked, maybe even upset, because here religion somehow mingled with science without either being cheapened.

Evolution, of course, was the other elephant in the room, and most of the time I heard about Christians trying to remove it from the schoolbooks. From the Scopes trial to Intelligent Design to the latest Texas textbook controversies, there seemed to be a continuous goal to sweep the idea of evolution under a rug. Because of stories in the media over the last 25 years focusing on this fundamentalist view, I had forgotten that Catholics do not object to the idea of evolution. They teach evolution in Catholic schools and hold that evolution doesn’t conflict with Church teachings, because it doesn’t conflict with God as the “First Cause” of the universe, nor does it discount the spiritual soul, the ghost in the machine that transcends the atoms that form the body. The soul is touched by the sublime. This same idea can be found in all creation stories across the world, that deep in our hearts and minds we know that something cannot come from nothing and that the soul goes beyond the material world. Far from being anti-science, the Catholic Church seemed to be one of the few pro-science religions and this didn’t get any attention in the press. From the Church’s rulebook itself, the Catechism states it quite clearly:

The question about the origins of the world and of man has been the object of many scientific studies which have splendidly enriched our knowledge of the age and dimensions of the cosmos, the development of life-forms and the appearance of man. These discoveries invite us to even greater admiration for the greatness of the Creator, prompting us to give him thanks for all his works and for the understanding and wisdom he gives to scholars and researchers. (CCC 283)

Creation and evolution do not sit in permanent opposition to one another as both sides of the fundamentalist secular and religious folks would have us believe. Science and faith are not in a battle to the death. One thing that has amazed me is the number of practicing Christian and Jewish scientists in the world. I formerly considered these people to be mad, since holding both scientism and religious dogma could not be done simultaneously, or so I thought. These people had volumes more knowledge than myself on science, yet somehow they maintained their faith. How? Did they fail to take notes in college? Were they dense?

I think that I was a bit dense, and I realized that science has as many radical fundamentalists as any religion. While I strived to deny God, I could never remove the notion of the “First Cause.” Accepting this idea alone, rather than fighting it, reminds me a bit of the Ironman endurance race where I was trying to defeat the water rather than relaxing and letting it lift me up. Fortunately there is ample readings from the Church to discuss all of these things in detail, and far from running away from science, the Church’s embrace of knowledge means that truth can be sought in both lab coats and vestments.

Then there is art. Yes, art, the un-scientific pursuer of truth that spills forth from emotion and feeling, edging upon the spiritual realm beyond ours by its very attempt. We praise science for its march of progress, while art stands the test of time regardless of our knowledge of biology and chemistry and physics. Dante and Shakespeare do not diminish as we learn more about the world. The great epics and fables from all corners of the world are no less today than they were on first utterance. They were deep in meaning before technology allowed them to be presented on paper or phones, and their depth exceeds the tangible things of this world. If I think of a song that animates my heart, oldies like the heavenly praise of Ave Maria, or rage music like Smells like Teen Spirit, or tear jerkers such as Sunday Morning Coming Down by Johnny Cash and Fade into You by Mazzy Star - there is a paralyzing miracle to music that we all fall in love with, all of which brings us to a transcendent escape whether we want to admit it or not. For an atheist this is just brain chemistry and psychology at play, just as our soul is just atoms and electricity flitting about, bonding and breaking, bonding and breaking, until we fall into nothingness.

Perhaps it’s just a turning of the mind toward the divine that makes all the difference, just allowing it be possible. Admitting that maybe there is more than just science made all the difference for me in appreciating nature and art. When God is real, and faith is pursued rather than eschewed, everything changes. Having walled myself off from God, I had actually walled myself in, to an isolation, and total loss of wonder. This is why people who have “found” faith are so annoying to those without it - because it changes everything, such that their former life seems like wasted time spent by a stubborn fool who refused to turn around and give belief a chance.

This is why born-again people irritate us so much: they are happy. I used to say, “They are just using God as a crutch,” and now I think, “Wow, this is such a terrific crutch, I should have been using this crutch all along instead of those others ones.” Much better than the crutches of TV, beer, sex, celebrities, and constant seeking of approval of others. I mean, you could say that anything is a crutch. Someone on reddit once mentioned how desperate and lost I must have been to need Jesus to save me, and I thought, “That is so true.” It was meant as an insult, but I realized that he was like an Irish Setter pointing at the truth. The atheist made a great insight about me. I was desperate and lost. I’m so glad I found faith. Because in the end it’s not the person of faith who is crazy or boring or adrift, it’s actually the person without faith who doesn’t realize their own desperation and loss. If I consider the boredom and restlessness I had as an agnostic or atheist, and the joy I see at Sunday mass on people’s faces, there is no comparison. Laying on the couch watching Netflix empties me, while receiving Communion at church with the other faithful invigorates me and re-charges my life. This reminds me of Ignatius of Loyola, when after being wounded by the cannonball he laid in his hospital bed reading adventure stories about knights, and the excitement faded into disappointment after he finished those books. Then he read the lives of the saints and felt joyful, motivated, and full of life. Tales of knights or superheroes are like candy. Stories of faith are like rocket fuel for life.

Acceptance of God’s existence may have been the biggest stumbling block for me. Years ago I had “allowed” the idea of God but didn’t fully inspect the idea until I started actively asking, seeking, and knocking. Saying yes to the existence of God allowed me to punch a hole in the wall I had built around myself. I thought I had built the wall for protection from the religious nuts of the world, but by hiding from them, I had walled myself into darkness. And for once I thought: they can’t all be nuts. Through that hole I could see a little light on the other side. And it was about time for some demolition of that wall.