God is Dead

When I was a kid growing up in the woods of north Grady County, I didn’t know a single atheist.

 

Back then, to call yourself an atheist or agnostic was pretty much unheard of.

 

Living in a small town and not going to church was a scandal. Everyone went to church. And nobody tried to hide it.

 

Everybody knew that Jim down at the bank was a Methodist. Carl at the Post Office taught Sunday School at the First Baptist Church. My first grade teacher was a Presbyterian and my best friend, Keith, was Freewill Baptist, whatever the heck that is.

 

I went to church on Sunday morning, Sunday night, Wednesday night, revival twice a year, Vacation Bible School every summer, plus to every pot luck supper, dinner on the grounds and Saturday night sing my church ever had.

 

To me, God was as real as the box of corn flakes on the kitchen table every morning.

 

But that was way back then. And now, well let’s just say that if you go church with any kind of regularity, you are labeled an ignorant bigot.

 

Just post something positive about Christianity on Facebook and see how many people come out of the woodwork to call you a MAGA-loving Nazi.

 

And heaven forbid if you declare your belief in God at college. You’ll be lucky to make it back to your dorm room without being tarred and feathered while your fellow classmates frantically search for a ‘safe space’ where they can deal with the trauma you’ve caused.

 

I know this because just this past week, someone I follow in the Metaverse made the mistake of posted something positive about God.

 

Big mistake.

 

Let’s see what sweet little words of encouragement popped up in the comments section.

 

“You actually believe in the Sky Fairy?”

 

“So, you’re a fascist now?”

 

“Only the mentally disturbed believe in God.”

 

Apparently atheists excel at compassion.

 

I try to imagine if Carl from the Post Office had called me a fascist when I was a kid. I can guarantee he would no longer have been invited to any more church pot luck dinners.

 

The one thing I have learned over the last few years is that you don’t engage with these people on line.

 

Well, not unless you have a social media account under an alias name.

 

And I do.

 

So, occasionally when I see a particularly nasty comment from a particularly nasty atheist, I like to mess with them a little.

 

And that drives them absolutely nuts.

 

It seems that all those people who believe in nothing get really pissed off at people who believe in something.

 

The one thing they cannot tolerate while going on a rant about ignorant religious people is asking them to prove that God doesn’t exist. That pretty much makes their heads explode.

 

But that’s not the point.

 

So, what is the point?

 

I guess it’s that I’m not cool. I’m not hip.

 

Trendy. In vogue.

 

You see, admitting that you still believe in God in this day and age means you are an ignorant fool.

 

There is no God. Or, as Time Magazine so famously asked in their groundbreaking 1966 cover story, ‘Is God Dead?’

 

We went from a society just a few decades ago when families got up on Sunday morning and went to church together to today’s world where a belief in God is right up there with believing in Big Foot or the Loch Ness Monster.

 

We’ve come a long way in the last fifty years.

 

But despite all of our great enlightenment, one thing we have not been able to do is figure out how not to die.

 

It is still going to happen to us. All of us. Believers and non-believers.

 

If I get my choice, I hope to go out with a bang at the ripe old age of 104 while flying my jet pack nude through Times Square.

 

However it happens, when I do pass on, my body will stop functioning. My heart will stop beating. My liver will stop living. All of the tiny little electrical impulses in my brain that make up my knowledge, personality and memories will flicker out.

 

So, one of two things will happen. Scenario #1. When that last electrical impulse in my head flickers away, that will be it.

 

Blackness.

 

Or Scenario #2. My body will die. (Jet pack, nude, Times Square, remember?) The brain that has been commanding my body for all these years will also stop functioning. But something will still remain.

 

That part that’s the real me.

 

The part you can’t see or touch or measure.

 

At this point, where I go next depends on the decision I made during life. I’ll either go to heaven or to a place that’s fighting some real global warning issues and has a particularly nasty landlord.

 

That’s Hell and Satan for you folks who never went to Sunday School.

 

So, when me and the atheist guy die, it doesn’t really matter if Scenerio #1 comes true. He will have been right but will unfortunately miss the opportunity to gloat.

 

But if Scenerio #2 occurs, I’m going to be real glad that I didn’t listen to all those cool, hip folks who have been telling me God is dead.

 

Which brings me to the part of the story where naturally I am expected to bash atheists and agnostics and tell them to repent or they will burn in hell forever. But I won’t.

 

Atheists, however, seem to love berating us believers. Not only will they belittle us but try to point out how believing in a higher being is actually damaging to our society.

 

I’m still trying to understand that twisted logic.

 

My response is usually not what they expect. I tell them they’re right.

 

Yeah, the atheists are right. I don’t know with absolute certainty what lies on the other side. It could be nothing. Or it could be everything.

 

The only thing I am certain of is that we are free to believe whatever we wish. Or to believe absolutely nothing at all.

 

So Jim down at the bank no longer believes in Jesus? Okay. And my first grade teacher left the Presbyterians and became a pagan? That’s alright.

 

It is their right to do so and it’s none of my business.

 

If they want to believe that God is dead, it’s their choice.

 

I don’t. And that’s my choice.

 

I guess one day, we will know who’s right.