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What do you think of when I say the word “missionaries”? Do you think of people trekking through the rain forests of South America taking the gospel to the natives? Do you think of people in the African desert sharing God’s words and basic human essentials? Both are valid, very real descriptions.  However, there are mission fields closer to our version of “normal.”

I am privileged to have spent a great deal of my life through college with many people who are missionaries serving on college campuses throughout the state of Ohio, as well as in Amsterdam, The Netherlands, and Sheffield, England. Granted, these aren’t the first places that come to mind when the word “missionary” is uttered, but from what I am learning they are places where missionaries are desperately needed.

The culture of Amsterdam is pretty well known the world over as a party-goer’s paradise. From legalized ma-rij-uana to the red-light district, they pretty much do it all, with a noticeable absence of religion. For all of this immorality, it seems that there is a general apathy toward Christianity (as well as religion in general). This is in direct contrast to my understanding of the mission field in England.

I learned during a recent conversation with my friend who is serving in Sheffield that the English are essentially openly hostile to anyone who follows any religion. In fact, religion is taught in the public schools as an expression of culture and nothing more. Through this education, children are exposed to (and encouraged to participate in) religious celebrations of all religions, again strictly as a way of learning about a particular nation’s culture. My shock and “holy-cow-can-you-imagine…” reactions aside, this conversation reinforced something very important to me:  Whether or not we are missionaries by profession, we must be missionaries by practice.

As a mother to two little boys, my home and my community are my mission field.  Foremost, it is my job (and my husband’s too, of course) to make sure that they grow up into godly men.  After that, I need to consider all of the lives that I’ll touch in some way as a result of mothering these two little boys.  Through people that we meet at playgroups, story times, activities and sports, their friends as they grow into older boys and young men, my mission field, and that of any parent, is vast.

Parenting is only one example of how we are all called to “go and make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:19 – NIV).  Consider this next time you hear the word missionary: Where is your mission field?  You likely don’t need to look much farther than your own front door.

Photo by Jason Trommeter

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Recently I have noticed a number of mom bloggers writing about their day-to-day lives filled with kids, laundry, housework. They write to encourage and share with others similarly situated. As an older dad, I find I can identify in some specific ways with what they write. They speak to me in a surprisingly personal way.

But I need to share something. I find myself being choked up when I read of a little one having a 104 degree fever and crying in pain from an ear infection. I feel for the mother who is now without sleep for umpteen nights and beginning to doubt her sanity.  I sense a dad helpless to fix things (it’s what we guys think we are supposed to do) and wanting to stay home from work, but knowing that means not getting a full paycheck or receiving a black mark at work which hurts his family, his responsibility. I read of a family with a child having a serious chronic disease and my hearts bleeds inside.

Where does this personal connection come from?  When I was younger I stuffed some of these things for selfless and selfish reasons. My wife and I have been through all these things and indeed have a child with a major life-long medical issue who is now a happy adult. Why wasn’t I closer to this tearing-up point back 20 years ago? How did we, then, and these parents, now, handle it all?

“Why”  and “How” questions come easier to me now. Answers, not so much. In pondering all of this I have begun to understand in a veiled way what it means when we hear that God shares our sorrows.

Having this intensified empathy lately is, I think, a gift from God. You see, God is empathy. It is a manifestation of His being Love. God so loves us that He completely experiences our sorrows, struggles, pains and joys along with us. He isn’t “up there,” He is right here.

Having this starting point, I begin to ponder the next “why” question: why does it continue, why does He let it happen? Now if you think I have got the answer to THAT one, well…oh my, no. But then again, having gone through my life to this point somehow has brought me to a more compassionate place.

When I was young I thought as a young man, full of myself, my learning, my ideas of HOW THINGS SHOULD BE. Now I am older and learning something new: that it isn’t all about me. It’s about all of us.

I cannot be a member of Christ’s Body if I am not aiming to be in tune as He is in tune…each cry, each laugh, each tear. For me, it is taking a long time to get that point. God has been training me in life, in the school of struggle and suffering so I can KNOW the suffering and struggles of my fellow sisters and brothers in the Body of Christ.

What he is telling me is that THIS is my job, to be His compassion, His empathy, His hands, His words, His LOVE to everyone I meet. When that happens in my imperfect way, God does act to stop the suffering, heal the torment, and bring joy. It takes me to be open to His promptings. I pray I stay on the road to bring the Good news to the next person, who takes it to the next…and the next. It is as St. Teresa of Avila tells us:

“God has no hands but our hands to do his work today;
God has no feet but our feet to lead others in his way;
God has no voice but our voice to tell others how he died;
and, God has no help but our help to lead them to his side.”

© Mark R. Szewczak, 2010

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As we commemorate Memorial Day, let’s join in praying for peace — in our world, in our country, and, most importantly, in our own hearts:

To Mary, who is the Mother of Mercy and omnipotent by Grace,
let loving and devout appeal go up from every corner of the Earth:
from noble temples and tiniest chapels,
from royal palaces and mansions of the rich as from the poorest hut;
from every place wherein a faithful soul finds shelter,
from blood-drenched plains and seas.
Let it bear to her the anguished cry of mothers and wives,
the wailing of innocent little ones,
the sighs of every generous heart,
that her most tender and benign solicitude
may be moved and the peace we ask for be obtained for our agitated world.

Pope Benedict XV on May 5, 1917
(Eight days later, Mary appeared to three children at Fatima, Portugal)

Courtesy of Women of Grace Daily Grace Lines

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Neither side has proof that the other side is incorrect; it comes down to belief. I believe modern science provides a convincing and simple explanation of extraordinary beliefs; this is more convincing to me than assuming there is some higher power, and then attempting to determine which higher power or powers is the correct one.

At first blush, it might seem surprising how much our beliefs are similar, when we look for the similarities.  I think that is the main reason I avoid self-identifying as an atheist except to people I know well.  If I say nothing about my beliefs, other people simply assume that I am similar to them, and look for the similarities.  But the term “atheist” screams “other” and “untrustworthy” and “smug,” and leads people to look for other ways in which I’m a huge jerk.

I don’t deny that there are many untrustworthy and smug atheists (maybe we should introduce them to the untrustworthy and smug Christians and let them have at it while we go get coffee). I know that I am on occasion preachy and impatient and condescending, but these faults make me similar to everyone else.  My faults are not ones that are unique to atheists, but occur in everyone (some more than others).  My aspirations are not unique to atheists either, but are ideals for Christians and non-Christians alike.

I may not be trying to be a good Christian, but I am trying to be a good person, which, in the most important ways, amounts to the same thing. So next time you meet an atheist, try to judge him or her on actions rather than labels, and remember that you likely have more in common than different.

Thanks, Brittany, for sharing your perspective, and thanks to all of you for continuing the discussion.

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Loving God,
I am just beginning to realize how much you love me.
Your son, Jesus was humble and obedient.
He fulfilled your will for him by becoming human and suffering with us.
I ask you for the desire to become more humble
so that my own life might also bear witness to you.
I want to use the small sufferings I have in this world
to give you glory.

Please, Lord, guide my mind with your truth.
Strengthen my life by the example of Jesus.
Help me to be with Jesus in this week
as he demonstrates again his total love for me.
He died so that I would no longer
be separated from you.
Help me to feel how close you are
and to live in union with you.

I would argue that religions are desirable, in addition to rather inevitable and predictable. The idea of a divine protector gives comfort to people.  Being optimistic about the future is good.  People who are optimistic are more likely to survive illnesses and live fuller, happier lives.  In addition, religious groups give each other support.  They provide the “village” in which to raise children when families are scattered throughout the country and villages have swelled to cities with populations in the thousands.

Of course, there have been absolute atrocities committed in the name of religion, but religions, particularly the ones I am familiar with, advocate things like fellowship, compassion, kindness, humility, self-restraint, and pro-social behaviors, not intolerance and hatred and violence.  Other justifications have and will be found for war and crimes against humanity.

Why abolish something that can be so valuable, just because it can be used for justifying the evil?  Shall we stop teaching people about honor because people have violently defended it?  Or outlaw families because people might aggressively protect them?

However, people don’t need a religion in order to be good. We’re social creatures.  We live in groups.  In order to facilitate group survival, people need to be helpful, kind, compassionate, and behave in ways that make other people like them and include them in their groups.  Of course there are freeloaders, but we identify and punish freeloaders.  We do.  Similarly, if everyone stopped believing in God, the result would not be anarchy.  And most people are not good people because they are afraid of eternal punishment, but because it feels right to be good.

How many true friends do you have that are unkind, arrogant, selfish, self-centered, greedy jerks?  No one likes people like this.  We know that if we acted like this, people would dislike us, and we all have a fundamental need to be liked.  Sure, there are people that get by acting like this, but they manage to find other means (e.g., intimidation) to get people to include them.

Yes, we need to teach our children how to be good human beings, but we don’t necessarily need religion to do it.  Religion is one good way to do it, but not the only way. Do you have to think to yourself “I better be good, or it’s hellfire and brimstone otherwise”?  Do you tell your kids “be nice or you’ll go to Hell”?  Of course you don’t.  It’s insulting to atheists to be told that we’re bad people, because the threat of damnation doesn’t hang over our heads.  We don’t tell Christians (or at least, if we’re not the obnoxious, smug, anti-religious atheists, we don’t) that they’re actually bad people because it takes divine intervention for them to act like decent human beings.

To put it simply, I am just as put off by jerks as you are. I think murder and rape and robbery and theft and vandalism and envy and arrogance and laziness and all of the other sins and commandments (well, maybe not the idols) are as bad as you do.  I just think that morality and ethicality are not necessarily inextricably linked to belief in the divine.

Next week, Brittany will point out the similarities we share, Catholics and atheists.

As an atheist, I have kept my beliefs to myself for a long time, because I was afraid what people would think about me. Atheists are one of the most disliked and least trusted groups in America according to public opinion polls.  Because of an obnoxious minority of smug and anti-religious atheists, Christians I don’t even know feel perfectly happy or even justified to question or even berate me for my beliefs, and the Christians who love me berate me and question my beliefs because of concern for my eternal soul.

As for me, I mostly don’t want to talk about it.  I am afraid of the baggage that comes along with the term “atheist.”  I am afraid that to religious people, my atheism is synonymous with the view that they are stupid or, worse, Satanists (a belief held by a not-insubstantial group of people).

I believe what I believe, because, as a social psychologist who studies human behavior, I am aware of and conduct experiments on a variety of judgmental and perceptual biases that are usually great, but lead people astray in certain situations.

This does not make them stupid. I believe that people who believe in the supernatural have many reasons to do so; we’re programmed to see patterns in our worlds; we’re particularly likely to see intentionality where none exists. Look at all the people who act like their pets or even inanimate possessions are people, for example.

We naturally assume that people’s behavior was intentional and reflect underlying traits.  We have a fundamental problem understanding what randomness looks like, we think things are linked more than they are, and we don’t understand covariation. This doesn’t make people stupid; it makes them human.  Of course some people see the caprices of fate and invent a benevolent god who will look out for them and help them when they really need it.  I see nothing wrong or stupid about believing the world is a better place than perhaps it really is.  I just don’t have the same belief myself.  I don’t think of it in terms of who’s right at all, and I certainly am not secretly laughing at people who are religious.

In next week’s post, Brittany will share why she doesn’t think religion is bad.

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The answer to my questions about God came in the form of the most wonderful boy I had ever met, and the most loving and accepting set of in-laws that I could ever hope for.  I had no reason not to, so I started going to Mass every Saturday, and I loved it!  I think that the saints are so cool, and the ceremonies are so inspiring (although I think the Methodists have better hymns).

When we decided to get married, I even started down the road to becoming Catholic.  In the end, I couldn’t fool myself, and I had too much respect and affection for both my in-laws and the priest to fake it.

In the end, this is what it comes down to for me: I just can’t believe that there really is a God, no matter how hard I try.  I know a lot of social scientists who don’t, and studying extraordinary beliefs (even though we can’t study believing in God, because God is outside of science) might be the reason, I think most of us had doubts before graduate school.

I’ve never been able to believe in things that don’t have tangible effects, and for me, there are no effects enacted by God that can’t be explained by human factors.  But, as any good scientist will tell you, God is outside of science, and I fully acknowledge that my non-belief is exactly that: a matter of belief. I would never presume to think that people who do believe in God are stupid or naïve.

I still enjoy going to church, even though I’m not a believer (I hope no one is offended by my presence).  I have always liked the singing, which was always the part I enjoyed the most as a child.  I like the feeling of community that suffuses the church; I like the quietness and the peace and the light streaming through old stain glass windows.  I like the messages of hope and love and compassion and goodness delivered in the sermon.  I like holding hands with my husband, and smiling at my family, and wishing them peace.

I like the sentiment, and I appreciate it.  I just approach it from a different direction.  Similarly, I look forward to the baptisms of my nieces and nephews as celebrations of their new lives; I marvel at how mature they’ve become, and how amazing it is that they’re old enough to receive first communion or confirmation.

In other words, I love my family and respect their beliefs, even though I have not come to hold the exact same ones.

Next week, Brittany will discuss “coming out” as an atheist.

Even as a small child, I had skeptical tendencies. As a toddler, I had to personally determine whether “hot” meant the same thing for fire, water, the furnace, the stove, candles, and the liquid potpourri. (I like to think that this is a sign of my natural curiosity, rather than stupidity, because I am a social scientist, so now I have a job that eerily parallels this experience, as experiments have to be replicated over and over before an effect can be deemed valid.)

I spent my childhood in a state of apathetic agnosticism once I was old enough to ask existential questions. I went to church every Sunday, but I had my doubts, mostly because some of the kids that spent the most time there and whose parents were the most “devout” were the least Christian, in the sense that Christian means kind or humble or charitable or at least unlikely to make fun of you and pull your hair.

I was a thoughtful kid who grew up to be a skeptical adult, and I couldn’t help noticing that my prayers for people to be less poor or to not die went unanswered.  “Mysterious ways” didn’t seem like a good justification for arbitrary punishments to be meted out to good people, at the same times hypocritical and plain selfish behavior went presumably unnoticed.

What kind of God, thought my seven-year-old self, could be so capricious and cruel?  If there was a God, thought my ten-year-old self, where is he and what exactly is he doing?  If coincidences and self-delusions are so likely, thought my twenty-something-self, why should I believe in the supernatural at all?

In next week’s post, Brittany will discuss being a respectful family member.

Photo by NCBrian

Hi, I’m Brittany, and I’m an atheist.

Sometimes, I really feel like my personal beliefs are a character flaw rather than an important freedom.  Maybe “failed Christian” would be a more appropriate moniker, because although I am an atheist now, two very significant periods of my life were spent in worship: my childhood and my late teens.

I was raised by Methodist parents, who were themselves raised by Methodist parents, who were raised by Quakers and Baptists and Methodists, and there might even be some Catholic ancestors, because I have Catholic great aunts.  But the point is that my family is Christian, through and through, and during my formative years, I spent every Sunday in church, every summer in Bible school, and every evening saying the Lord’s Prayer before bed.  So if I’m atheist, it’s surely not the result of apathetic parents.

It isn’t as if I didn’t try my hardest to believe in God. I jokingly tell my mother that the seed was sown when I found out that Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy were all made up, but really, there is a grain of truth to it.  Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy leave presents and are featured in movies and greeting cards.  I know what Santa and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy looked like.  They are supposed to show up, and they do, with presents.  Santa even grants wishes.  You ask him for a specific gift and you often get it.

These imaginary characters seemed more real than God.  No one knows what God looks like; he “works in mysterious ways” (which meant I should ask Santa, rather than God, for the Barbie Doll, and that no matter how much I prayed, Mommy and Daddy couldn’t stay home to play with me all day).  To a child, God is the least tangible of the “imaginary” characters, but He turns out to be the only genuine article.  My little kid self thought that something was wrong with that picture.

Next week, Brittany continues the series with “Child Skeptic.”

Photo from Weather Image Gallery