Letter To a Christian Nation

I woke up this morning and nothing really had changed. I wasn’t consumed with evil thoughts. I didn’t feel liberated to suddenly indulge myself in any way imaginable. I woke up slowly as I always do, propping myself up against a pillow and nursing the coffee my wife lovingly brought to me. My son was sleeping soundly next to me as he had, as he always does, crawled in around 2 or 3 a.m.

My wife was going over bids on eBay and something was on TV but I paid no attention. As the morning wore on, my wife left for work and my son eventually opened his eyes. As always, waking up to a “tickle-fest” is an optimal way to wake up for him. Watching “Arthur” on PBS is good too. Knowing that a doughnut is his if he gets himself dressed and ready to go with minimal fussing is very motivating.

For me, I looked over the things I needed to do to get ready: make sure my son’s Tae Kwon Do gear goes with him to school; find an item for him to bring to Show & Tell that begins with the letter “N”; make sure my work clothes are ironed and that I look halfway presentable.

As Mondays go, it was like many others. In fact, it was better. It wasn’t one of those Monday mornings where you look at every colleague and friend and say ironically “It’s Monday, ya know?” No, it was a good Monday morning and this has been a good albeit perhaps unproductive Monday, all things considered.

The difference is that this is the first Monday after the weekend in which I concluded, or realized, or admitted, or accepted that there is no God. I’ve spent practically my entire life believing in something for which there is no clear evidence to support its existence. And now, I don’t.

And what is liberating is that nothing has changed. I mean, of course, in the most obvious ways. I’m still employed as a hospice music therapist. I still perform Old Rugged Cross and Amazing Grace. As always, I still derive personal comfort from those warhorse hymns. The songs themselves are like friends and what is truly at the root of the songs is hope. And I am not without hope. Not believing in God does not equate with a sense of hopelessness. Not at all.

My hope is that I can somehow work to leave this world a little better than I found it. Not only can I not take anything with me when I go, I very clearly (and the evidence is profound in this) will leave everything behind when my time comes. I accept that some of what I have already left behind may continue to impact some negatively (I have not been the kindest, most honest person I could be at different points in my life) but I’m also inclined to believe conversely that a good part of what remains will be a benefit to many.

What were my character flaws when I believed in God are still my character flaws. I haven’t changed. The skies haven’t changed. The world hasn’t changed. There is still a bloody war on in Iraq that involves a great cross-section of humanity that will willingly kill and die for their God. There are still people suffering across the globe and throughout the United States because they are not receiving aid while billions of dollars are siphoned into the war machine.

There is no God. There are only living creatures of all sizes, shapes and species roaming about this earth and mostly looking to provide for themselves, their families, stay healthy, be creative and avoid getting killed.

What has changed is that this world suddenly seams smaller, more fragile, more delicate and more precious. I can’t speak for anyone else. But my responsibility is to leave it better than I found it. Can their be a more monumental task set before any of us?