Lukewarm No More - The Puddleglum Argument

I am done being lukewarm. 

That statement may surprise some of you who know me well. Maybe I'm wrong, and you've seen through my veneer, but I'm guessing many/most of you would say, "Matt? Lukewarm?"

Yes. L.U.K.E.W.A.R.M. Lukewarm. And I'm done.  

Today I went to counseling. I go to counseling because, honestly, there's a lot in my life right now that sucks. And I want to be ok. And I want to be able to help our kids be ok. And the counselor I have at the Barnabas Center is incredible, so this may be one of the best investments I've ever made. 

So while I was at counseling today, we were talking about how everything seems to be going wrong and how hurt, frustrated, confused, and angry I am about it. But I was saying that no matter how bad things seem to be, part of what makes it hard is that people want to comfort me by telling me that it's going to be ok. The reason it's annoying is that the reality that life is going to be ok is the one thing I know for sure, and I want permission to feel bad about how ridiculously "country song" my life is now without acting as if I'm comforted by knowing that it's going to be ok. I mean, I am comforted by knowing that it's going to be ok. That's established. But there's still pain in the present, and I want people to accept that with me and walk with me anyway. 

As we were beginning to talk about these things, I was also sharing with my counselor that there are some opportunities and people who give me hope that my life could be really great soon, now, in the present. I've got some amazing friends. I've got people trying to help me find work, including people who are aiming to get me some really GOOD work. And I even went into this counseling appointment with an interview lined up for the afternoon, an appointment at 2 p.m. A sign of hope, not just for the who-knows-when future, but for today and tomorrow. For now. 

And I'm not kidding you, but less than 10 minutes into my counseling appointment, I got a phone call. I took the call, hoping for more good news (when you're applying to jobs, you take calls. That's just how it is for me). But - you're not going to believe this - it was the hiring manager calling to inform me that the company, instead of really looking forward to my interview and anticipating my hiring, had actually decided not to add the position I was applying for after all. 

You know those times when you know you shouldn't cuss, but it just seems really, really appropriate? 

We spent the rest of the counseling session just grappling with how I don't seem to be able to catch a break. I even applied for a McDonald's job recently - at a new McDonald's that didn't have any employees yet - and didn't get a call. That's how bad it is. And remember, I'm not saying this in the idea that I have no future hope. I'm just saying that life right now is pretty consistently ridiculous. I have great moments, but the overall picture is getting really, really tiresome. 

So what's that have to do with my being lukewarm?

So glad you asked. As I drove home from counseling, for the first couple of minutes I reflected on how certain I am that things will one day be fine again. I am certain of that as a Christian. But if I was an atheist, I'd be just as certain (and I don't entertain even the possibility of anything being true aside from Christianity and atheism - those are the only two options that make sense to me). From the Christian perspective, I'm going to be fine because the God I serve has demonstrated His love for me through Jesus' death on the cross, and no matter what happens, I know He's both going to take care of me throughout this life and then, beyond this life, heaven's waiting. LIfe's only going to get better. From the atheistic perspective, I'm going to be fine because I have friends and family who are going to make sure that I have a place to stay and food to eat even if my finances crash through the pit of destruction for a while, and I know that one day I'll be back on my feet - and from the atheistic perspective, even if I'm wrong and somehow things fall apart so badly that I die, who cares? I won't be experiencing pain anymore. So I can maintain a realistic and very optimistic sense of hope for my future, either way. Life is just about certainly going to get better in this life. I'm going to make it. I really don't expect my life to end. I'm so optimistic about my future (even if not my immediate future) in this life that the thought of suicide is ridiculous, and I'm healthy enough to assume that my life is going to continue for quite a while, barring some accident. But either way, whether I look at things from the perspective of a Christian or an atheist, if life does end, I have nothing to worry about. 

Now that's all well and good, but if you think about what I just said, you might be able to see my lukewarmness entering the picture. Sure, I've chosen to continue living as a Christian. Sure, I argue its case and believe that it's a smarter pick than atheism. Sure, I live my Christianity with integrity, for the most part, and I put my efforts into promoting Jesus. But look how much of my hope for the future is based in the possibility of atheism. In that paragraph, at least, it's about equal to the amount of my future hope that is based in Christianity. 

That's scary to me. 

Because as I looked at how this job interview suddenly slipped through my fingers, I literally considered my life from both perspectives. If Christianity is right, then God had something to do with it, and it's personal. He took the job away from me for a reason, presumably something better that He has in store for me sooner or later. So I can move forward with hope. If atheism is right, then the job interview just disappeared because that's what happened, and my chances for the future are just as good as ever, so I might as well keep moving forward with expectation, looking for whatever it is that is sure to turn up sooner or later that won't slip through my fingers. Either way, life will be fine someday, even if it sucks today. 

Do you see the lukewarm written all over me? I do. And as I realized it, some convictions began to work their way into my heart. The idea began to grow that, though God might have had other reasons that I'm not imagining for allowing this job interview to get away, perhaps He did it just so that I would see how lukewarm I am and throw myself fully into His embrace. Not that throwing myself fully into His embrace guarantees that I'll get a job tomorrow, but still. 

So then as I continued driving home, I put the speakerphone on and called my parents. Mom answered, and we talked about some of the things I've been saying already. But then something else became a part of the conversation. Mom reflected on how, when she was in college and my dad's first wife and son were killed in a flood, she was angry with God. And she was attending a class in college where they were studying the book of Job from the Bible. Her secular professor was painting the God of Job as a juvenile, insecure, "I have to prove my glory to you" kind of deity. And I realized that part of the reason I keep comparing how my life looks from the perspective of both Christianity and atheism is that I feel that way about God sometimes, too. What if He's so insecure and petty that He is allowing me to go through this mess just so that I'll admit He's really amazing because of how He turns things around in the end? 

Then it hit me. The God of Christianity is so glorious that this kind of pettiness is ridiculous and can't possibly apply to Him. If He's as glorious and wonderful as the Bible claims, to the extent that one day "every knee will bow and every tongue will confess" it, then He's not trying to milk more praise out of His people through either good times or bad times. He doesn't need it. He simply is glorious, and one day all of creation will realize it and bow in amazement. 

So why does He focus on teaching us His glory, if He knows we're going to acknowledge it someday anyway? Here's why: because He wants us to experience His glory in the best possible way we will allow. Some of us won't permit ourselves to experience His glory hardly at all in this life, and the glory of His justice and righteousness is going to scream from our lips even from the pits and fires of hell. But God tells us that this is not what He wants for us. It is far better for us to know and experience His glory now, to confess it now, to adore Him now and trust Him now, so that for the rest of eternity we will praise His glorious mercy as we experience the fullness of His joys in heaven. So He brings us through trials in this life, even knowing that we will question His goodness and mock His kindness and ridicule His character as "petty" and "juvenile", because He cares about us and wants us to recognize and experience Him as glorious now, and not just in the future. For our sakes, not His. He's going to get His dues from us no matter what. Yet He still intervenes in ways that feel good and ways that feel bad… for our good.

Wow. God's not petty. He's kind. "Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but deceitful are the kisses of an enemy" (Proverbs 27:6, NASB). 

So back to my lukewarmness. Why have I sat there in tepid, lukewarm waters for so long when I have such a good God? The first answer is, "Because I'm stupid." But really, what's my motivation been? 

I think a lot of it has had to do with my desire to be reasonable and to keep communication lines open with those I disagree with by trying to see things through their eyes. But it's been more than that, I think. When I examine myself honestly, my doubts and fears about Christianity scare me, despite all the evidence I have for its truth. What if the only other option I consider to be viable - atheism - is true? Will my life have been a total waste? These motivations make me constantly want to guard myself as if I'm playing a giant game of chess with my life's purpose, never wanting to make a move without knowing that if it costs me something, I still have back up. I want to play the game of life so that if my Christianity piece falls through, at least I can still win with my atheist piece. I want to win, either way. Perhaps you understand what I'm saying and have been tempted into lukewarmness, too. I hope not, but perhaps.

So what is breaking me out of this lukewarmness? Crazily enough, it's thoughts that are best summed up in the arguments of a fantasy creature from Narnia - Puddleglum the Marshwiggle, to be precise. I've written about his thoughts before (and still managed to be lukewarm - I hope that doesn't continue), but just to set the context, Puddleglum, a prince, and some children have been captured by a witch who lives underground. She is trying to maintain control over them and actually persuade them to submit to her leadership by convincing them that the sun, Aslan the lion (the God figure in this story), and many other wonderful realities are mere figments of their imaginations based on lesser goods that they can readily find in her underground world, such as a lamp and a cat. The small group is almost persuaded. They have definitely been lulled into what could be called a temporary state of lukewarmness, where they are still trying to believe in the greater things, like Aslan and the sun, but where those things honestly don't seem as real to them at the moment as the lamp and the cat in the witch's underground world. They're thinking about living a compromised life even as they try to convince the witch that they are right about Aslan, the sun, and everything else. 

And then Puddleglum has a moment of inspiration (I'm only going to include his words here, and not any descriptions in the passage): 

One word, Ma'am. One word. All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things--trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say.

Now here's the thing. The witch has been able to dull their senses and reasoning to the point where they're questioning the reality of the sun and stars and Aslan, but the reality in this story is that they actually have experienced all of those things. This statement looks like faith without evidence, but it's really evidence-based faith confronting confusing and mind-numbing arguments. That's part of why I wouldn't use this passage to defend, say, Buddhism, Islam, or Hinduism. I don't think the evidence supports any of those religions. At all. But the evidence for Christianity is really strong. So don't hear me saying I've decided to take a leap of evidence-less faith. 

Here's what I'm saying. I see the evidence for atheism, too. But even though I think the evidence for Christianity is stronger, I have become lukewarm in the way that I live out my Christianity - internally, not externally - for all the reasons I mentioned above - especially to have people trust that I really do understand the atheist perspective and (what's worse) to have a backup strategy for winning the game of life if Jesus Christ somehow falls through. 

But when it comes down to it, there's still a huge gap between the two perspectives. Let's say that both of them have an almost equal chance of being rationally defensible, and that I'm right when I say that I'll be ok in the future whether I'm a Christian or an atheist. I would still rather live the kind of life that I'm compelled to live as a Christian. The Christian life is far richer than the atheistic life. 

• On hopes - atheism permits a hope of a decent or even amazing life in the present and peace (through non-existence) after death; Christianity compels hope not only that Jesus cares for us now, but that the future will be eternally amazing.
• On joys - atheism permits an experience of joy in the present, but it's really tough to experience joy when things go badly; Christianity gives a basis for a constant joy even in the worst imaginable sufferings.
• On morals - atheism permits (but does not demand) people to live really upright and moral lives for the sake of personal fulfillment and being able to think of themselves as good people; Christianity compels us to pursue good for others and provides for that good through God's own Holy Spirit, inviting us to join God in His goodness forever (as imperfectly as we accomplish that goal between now and Jesus' return). 
• On freedoms - atheism sometimes permits freedoms and sometimes doesn't, but when it does permit freedom, that freedom is based in letting everyone have a chance of enjoying their own lives as much as possible before death; Christianity has sometimes been guilty of restricting and abusing people's freedoms, but the nature of Christianity is to recognize that no one is truly free because we all choose a path that restricts us, whether that path follows God or Satan or our own philosophies, and to extend the freedom to choose our paths to all those around us just as God has given us the freedom to choose Him or not. In other words, in Christianity the basis for freedom is not just a hope that we won't step on each other's toes; it's a fundamental part of the nature of reality as God designed it to be: people should be free to choose their paths, even if it's a wrong path that enslaves them to do wrong things. 

I could go on and on, and I'm sure that throughout my life I will, but you get the idea. I'm done with lukewarmness. I'm done with making sure that I'll win the game of life whether I'm a Christian or not. I'm done with worrying about whether people think I've swallowed the "I don't need evidence" pill. I'm done with worrying about whether people are going to reject my arguments for various moral causes just because I'm a Christian. Christianity has better evidence than atheism anyway. But when you compare the God of Christianity with the godlessness of atheism, the richness and warmth and fulfillment found in a life that follows God wholeheartedly is beyond anything atheism can even begin to dream up. I've got evidence that leads me to believe Christianity is true, and I have experienced my risen Lord in many ways. But from now on, I pray that even when my mind is muddled by the deceitfulness that creeps in when I encounter arguments that I'm not sure how to answer and events that are hard to handle, I will say with Puddleglum:

[I'm] leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend [my life] looking for [God's gifts and blessings and companionship]. Not that [my life] will be very long, I should think; but that's small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say.

Lord Jesus, help me. I don't want to follow You just because of the abundant evidence. I don't want to follow You just as a strategy for winning the game of life. I don't want to have a back up plan that comforts me if I'm wrong about you. I want to follow You because You are my life in every way. Guard me from following You for any lesser reason, and from worrying about a back up plan. If I lose You, I lose a far more savory and sweet and rich life than I gain. Please, just let me be fully Yours.