A DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL

"Leadership of hundreds of people. Countless counseling sessions. More graduate degrees than I've ever seen on a resume. I gotta be honest with you, Mike. You're quite overqualified for this job. What is that, fifteen years as a church pastor? Why are you changing careers now?"

I took a cautious sip of my coffee. Then put it down and leaned back. "Without faith, it is impossible to please God."

The interviewer looked to the ceiling for a few seconds. "But …" He put his finger up. "He is a rewarder of those who seek Him."

I gave a half-smile. I hadn't given a full smile for weeks now. "You know your scripture." The interviewer smiled and nodded with pride. "I lost my faith. I tried to continue to serve the congregation. But it was so disingenuous that I quit."

"Wow. Sounds rough." He straightened out a stack of resumes, including mine. "Hey, please ignore this question if it's too personal. Certainly, too personal for a job interview," he laughed to himself. "But I'm curious. What caused you to lose your faith?"

I cleared my throat as I resituated in the chair. Every movement was a little harder and a little slower this past month. "Is God good or is he powerful? This world is just too evil to believe he's both."

"Oh, come on. That's it?" He slapped his desk. Then put his feet on it and folded his hands behind his neck. "You're just going to abandon your flock over that? Excuse my bluntness, but the good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep. So, you've got some doubts. Fight the good fight, brother."

I stood up and walked out the door. I had a similar interview earlier that week. Some corporate executive who is likely a greedy, unfaithful, swindler feels it's his Christian duty to use his few memorized Bible verses to preach to the preacher. Well, the preacher doesn't want to hear it.

I sat in my old Buick long enough for the defroster to melt some of the thick ice before I scraped it. Record low temperatures and inches of snow made this enduring winter even longer. I shook my flask, which felt lighter than it should, a new afternoon ritual. Then, finished it off. Who buys a flask at a grocery store? Isn't that the kind of thing someone buys you as a gift? Not for the local pastor. But to be fair, I only started drinking liquor this past month.

With nothing more on the agenda for the day, I meandered through the pet store and drove past some empty parks. Finally ready to embrace home, I pulled onto my street, hoping to see her car in the driveway. Nope. It hadn't been there for two weeks, but I anxiously looked each time. The frozen pond across the street looked so peaceful as the bitter wind swished the light snow around. A tear formed in my eye as I took in a shaky breath and headed inside.

My new friend, Bertrand Russell, warmly greeted me as I plopped into my recliner with my Mozart and my tumbler full of whiskey. Time for my continued de-conversion. Atheism became more and more of a tenable belief. As education and freedom increase, so does the logic of a world without God. Europe is far ahead of America in this regard, but America seems to be catching on. Yes, I was finally coming to the light, only to see that there was no light. Just darkness. But at least truth.

I picked up where I left off with Russell's Why I am not a Christian. Bertrand Russell was once asked what he would do if he died and found out there was a God after all. Without hesitation, he said that he would ask him, "Sir, why did you take such pains to hide yourself?" It was true. In fifteen years of ministry, I had never heard a single audible word from this God who supposedly loves me.

But then again, I had a few of those unexplainable "God moments." The time my church fell short of a fundraiser, and after a night of fervent prayer, an unmarked envelope with the exact amount of money was in my mailbox. I was the only person alive that knew the needed amount. Or what about the time when I was choosing which church to join, just out of seminary. Though I wanted the one, an inexplicable pull toward the other decided for me. Within a year, the one shut down in a huge scandal and I met the woman I would marry in the other. And there were other "God moments" which I had dismissed or forgotten. As much as I brushed them off, they thwarted my pursuit of unbelief.

A car pulled into the driveway. I leaped up, knocking over my tumbler, and tripped getting to the window. Just someone turning around. My wife drove off two weeks ago without saying goodbye and I hadn't heard from her since. I didn't blame her. In my emotional state, I could hardly mourn her leaving, much less love her while she was there. I sure did miss her though.

Standing at the window and staring at the pond brought the pit back to my stomach. My lower lip bled from how hard I was biting it. I wanted to run outside and punch right through the ice. I couldn't escape the beauty, however. The pink and orange hue of the winter sunset created a reflection of the pine trees across the pond. How can you have Mona Lisa without DaVinci? How can you have a creation so wonderfully and majestically designed without a Creator?

I refilled my tumbler, took a huge swig, and fell back into the recliner. The Christian worldview has more holes in it than the disciples' fishing net. So, there's this God-man who wanders a remote part of the world two thousand years ago. And if you don't believe it, you're damned, even though much of the world has never even heard of him. And he gave us some book, full of contradictions, translated hundreds of times from leafy manuscripts which we happen to have lost. Oh, and he has this comic book-like cosmic battle with some dragon who stole a third of his angels. What a fool I was to believe.

But then again. Why is there always a "but then again?" Why can't I simply land on these inescapable truths that deliver the knock-out punch to religion once for all? But then again. Atheism's holes present quite the challenge as well. How does something come from nothing? Why are we here instead of not? That question, so basic that a five-year-old understands the necessity of God. The great irony is that my current pain might be the greatest argument for God's existence. In a simply physical world, where is the category for spiritual pain? For a soul that aches from regret and shame? Where does that show up in Darwinian evolution?

If God is both good and powerful, why is there evil? "But then again," if there is no God, why is there evil? Can evil exist in a mindless, undriven universe? Why would anyone ever think things aren't as they ought to be. I desperately believe things aren't as they ought to be. Science tells us what is, not what ought. So why can't I be at peace with what is?

Why does this all have to be so complicated? Why is belief so difficult? I couldn't find the "but then again" for that question.

I forced down another large glass of whiskey and squeezed my temples with my palms. I loathed my nightly brain exercise, but at least it kept me from dealing with my heart. The brain can do wonders in hiding the darkness of the heart. That and alcohol. Still, the exhaustion of running through these stupid arguments over and over unhinged me. The same line of thinking day in and day out formed grooves in my brain, preventing me from thinking of anything else. I was becoming Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

I jumped up, light-headed, and slammed my tumbler against the glass coffee table, shattering both. The bottle of whiskey escaped my grasp, falling to the floor. I picked it up and chugged it while stumbling to the door. Without even putting on a coat or shoes, I ran to the pond and jumped up and down on the ice screaming, "MY GOD, MY GOD, WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME? ANSWER ME! SPEAK INTO MY DARKNESS! SAY SOMETHING!"

I fell on my face on the ice and cried. And I cried and cried. The quiet, stillness in the air was so strong between my gasps that I thought I might just hear the voice of God. The wind blew gently on that frigid night, but the whiskey kept me warm. I rolled onto my back and gazed at the starriest night I had ever seen. The moon looked as close as a firework. My panting created a fog over the celestial scene that any rock band would envy. And the tears continued.

At some point, I woke up shivering. I had just enough sense to get to my house. A vague thought told me that something or someone woke me to save me. I slipped several times on the ice, then got to the edge of the pond and threw up for what seemed like ages. My lungs barely kept up with the violent heaves. The whiskey warmth wore off as I crawled to my front door. My soul was deeply grieved, to the point of death. With my living room spinning in circles, I banged my way to the couch, and fell toward it only to realize it was still flipped over. I slammed face-first onto the floor.

The next morning's raging headache begged me to never drink again. A mug of coffee and the recliner slowly brought me back to life. Light snow fell as the sun shined on the pond. The pond where my three young children drowned just last month.

I warned them repeatedly that it wasn't ready for ice skating yet. Then, during the Sunday afternoon when I was supposed to be watching them, I fell asleep on the couch. That can happen when you stay up all night studying theology to nail your Sunday morning sermon.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the hot coffee fumes. "Are you there, God? Is there any hope for me? Can light shine, even in the darkest moments?" I knew I wouldn't get answers, but felt it necessary to vocalize.

Footsteps approached the front door. I thought it was either my wife or God. Just the mailman. I finally managed the slightest laugh at the distorted state of my thinking. Among all the junk mail was a card from an old seminary friend.

Mike, I'm so sorry to hear about what happened. I can't imagine what you're going through. Call me if you want to try to talk it through. Or just want to talk. I don't have answers, but I know God can speak in pain. I know there is hope for you. Light CAN shine, even in the darkest moments! I'm praying for you and I'm always here for you, buddy.