Dear Believers and Unbelievers:

This past week I read a book review in the Wall Street Journal (thank you, Kerry Joseph) of Alec Ryrie’s new book on atheism, Unbelievers: An Emotional History of Doubt. In it, Ryrie posits that the history of atheism not be interpreted as a rational response to religion’s misguided emotionalism, but instead as an equally emotional response to “anxiety about the instability of one’s own beliefs; and anger at the churches for failing to guide and unify believers” (WSJ, 2/29/20, p C-1). Reviewer Jeffrey Collins comments, “Atheists like to think they see religion in the cold light of reason. Unbelief, however, has a hot, emotional flipside” (ibid).

My reaction to the review, and I presume my reaction to Ryrie’s book if I ever get around to reading it, was surprisingly (or not surprisingly) emotional. “Ha, take that, you smug atheists!” I said quietly to my smug religious self. At last, a book that takes on the aggression and irrationality of those who proclaim the death of God by the well-placed dagger of rationalism. Initially in the review, it appeared that Ryrie successfully argues the irrationalities imbedded in those who reject Deity in favor of pure reason. Except his argument is significantly more nuanced.

Collins continues, “the very definition of ‘atheism’ evolved… The word entered English usage only in the 16th century and then usually denoted not the formal rejection of God but heresies… [P]ractical atheism was perceived everywhere” (ibid). Ryrie’s understanding of practical atheism set me musing as I realized how, despite my theological training and professional obligation, I often function as a practicing atheist. That is to say that while much of my job is dedicated to defense of faith, much of my life contains little evidence of God’s existence, let alone active participation.

I’m not speaking here about some moral wall between my confessions on Sunday and my immoral secret sins; I’m speaking far less salaciously about chunks of my day when God is simply irrelevant to my practice. Doctrinally I preach absolute dependence upon God’s active love and grace, but practically God sits patiently in the living room while I’m puttering about in the garage or kitchen. “I’ve got this,” says my practical atheism; occasionally I’ll pause long enough to pop in to see how God’s doing.

A mentor once told me that the job of a pastor is to help people think theologically about their world, to help them recognize what God is doing in both the powerful and the mundane. I have no problem speaking theologically in the powerful: baptisms, weddings, illness, funerals, most Sunday mornings; these are all venues where God’s mighty and powerful hand can easily be discerned. I’m a pretty religious guy when it comes to the traumas and triumphs of life, but I tend to be far more atheistic in the boring stuff.

As historian Martin Marty loves to point out, most of life is lived in the meantime. Lent serves as an opportunity to think about God’s involvement in our weekday lives, a challenge to become Monday theists. My newly recognized practical atheism is not some traumatic denial of faith, but simple negligence. It’s the suggestion that God is equally extant when there’s nothing particularly interesting going on. Or, to put it another way, perhaps what I think of as tedious is significantly more interesting to God than I believe.

Confessing my practical atheism, I remain with God and
With Love,
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor