When Delight Means Doxology

But may all who seek you
rejoice and be glad in you;
may those who love your salvation
say continually, “Great is the Lord!"

David's prayer in Psalm 40:16 can absolutely change your life. At first glance it may not stand out. Perhaps, like me, when you've read it before you glossed over the parallelism that makes this verse so special.

Now parallelism is a pretty simple rhetorical device. It is used in poetry of all kinds to connect two different phrases within a single line, always extending (in some way) the thought in the first phrase.1 Verse 16 below is one line with two phrases that are signified by A and B:

The particular type of parallelism is called “synonymous parallelism.” It basically is used by a poet to state the same idea in two different ways. It's not something we should breeze by. Instead read it and reread it. The point is for it to resound in the reader's mind.

So what is David saying in Psalm 40:16? David prays that all who seek God would rejoice and be glad in him. This is the first phrase, that the end of seeking God be joy in God. Now notice how this idea is repeated (and extended) in the second phrase: May all who love your salvation say continually, “Great is the LORD!”

As the phrases correspond, to seek God is parallel to loving his salvation, and to rejoice in God is parallel to praising him. The aim, then, of seeking God and loving his salvation is to rejoice in him and glorify him.

To seek God in this passage means to pursue him. A seeker, according to this verse, is not someone who is merely interested in religious topics. Rather than having reservations about God, the seeker is one who is in passionate pursuit to know him. The seeker is locked in, and keeps yearning for more. Specifically, this work of seeking — of pursuing God — is to love his ways. If you will seek God like David prays, you will cherish the salvation only God can give. If you will know him, you will know him only through his Son (Matthew 11:27).

So there's no such thing as seeking God outside the blood and righteousness of Jesus. To seek him is to revel in and cling to all that he is for us in the gospel. To love his salvation is to be bewildered by what he's done to bring us to himself.

You can't faithfully seek God, or love his salvation, with any legitimate aim other than to rejoice in him. That is the goal. There are really no other options. Seeking isn't spinning our wheels. There is an end in sight, a real end — when we see Jesus as he is and become perfectly conformed to his image (1 John 3:2), when the dwelling place of God will be with man in a new world (Revelation 21:1–3), when we live and reign with Jesus forever, his name written on our foreheads and his light making the night no more (Revelation 22:3–5). This will be a happy scene. We will rejoice in God. We will be glad in God. And he will be glorified. In fact, they are one in the same.

As the phrases show, rejoicing in God means to praise his name. Joy equals doxology. This kind of gladness in Psalm 40:16 sounds a certain way, like a chorus of rescued voices. It speaks a certain language, like a song from all the nations. And it says a certain thing: “To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever!”

Why the Good News Turns Bad Without Adam

Picture the scene: George Whitefield has just been preaching. Everywhere, eyes are shining and people are talking of the wonderful grace of Christ. Thousands of hearts have been overthrown and melted; lives have been remade.

Now, if the church gives up believing in a historical Adam, we will never see such scenes again.

Too far?

A bit strong?

Not at all. For it is not just that the biblical genealogies depict Adam as a historical figure, not just that Paul can build core arguments on his belief that Adam was as real a man as Christ (Romans 5; 1 Corinthians 15). Adam has a significance in the Bible that far outstrips the simple number of mentions he gets. In fact, he has a significance so great that without him we no longer have a recognisably Christian gospel.

Given space restraints, I will point out just two ways mythologizing Adam uproots the gospel.

Let’s put it this way: what if sin did not enter the world at a particular point in time, with a real, historic first sin? Well then we have to say that God must have created a sinful, fallen world. Sin must be a part of what God considers ‘very good’ (Genesis 1:31). Now either that is because there is some character flaw in God, some strain of evil in him, or it is the result of some compromise he had to make with pre-existent evil or with the deficient form of matter.

In other words, we are forced to deny either the absolute goodness of God or the absolute sovereignty of God. But to deny either must shake a Christian’s faith to its very foundations. And, one has to ask, what then was Jesus up to on the cross, defeating sin, death and evil? Was he defeating his very own work?

Now let’s ask: what if Adam is just a mythological figure, a symbol of how we all turn away from God? Well then sin is not a problem we are now all born with, something inherited. Sin, then, is not something which affects and shapes us through and through from birth; it is something superficial, something we freely opt into.

First of all, that goes right against the grain of everything the Bible says about sin. I do not sin because from some position of spiritual neutrality I ever choose to ‘opt in’ to sin; I sin because naturally my deepest inclinations are sinful. I sin because I am a sinner. I was born that way. A good tree bears good fruit and a bad tree bears bad fruit (Matthew 7:17), said Jesus.

Second, and more worryingly, if sin is something superficial, something I simply opt into, then my need for grace is equally superficial. If I freely chose sin, I can now freely choose Christ. In other words, I have no need for a supernatural regeneration of my heart and very being. Sin was just a bad choice. I am not that sick.

And what does all this say of Christ? Well if there is no radical problem with our very humanity, a problem that precedes our own birth, if we are as able to choose for God as easily as we choose sin, then Christ could simply have called for us to repent and follow him. No incarnation, death and resurrection would actually have been needed to remake us from the bottom up. If Adam is a myth, then we hardly need a Savior – just a teacher to show us the way.

This is why we will never see a ministry of the likes of Whitefield if the church gives up believing in a historical Adam. For, without belief in a historical Adam, Whitefield would have had no good and sovereign God to proclaim; ‘the new birth’ would not be his message. Instead of offering new life to helpless sinners, he would simply have urged those who have chosen badly to choose better.

No great good news there.

You Can Never Ask Too Much

Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. 8 For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. 9 Or which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? 10 Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? 11 If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him! 12 “So whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets. (Matthew 7:7–12)

This has proved, in my experience, to be one of the most motivating passages in all the Bible to pray with the confidence of being answered.

It’s an argument. Even bad dads give good things to their children when they ask. God is not a bad dad. He’s the best. Therefore, much more will he give good things to his children when we ask. I love that argument. Jesus really did want us to feel hopeful when we pray. He is trying to overcome our skepticism about prayer.

There’s another reason why this is so encouraging for our prayers. He says that a good dad gives “good things” to his children when they ask for what they want. He does not say that he always gives these little children precisely what they ask for. What father ever does? Or ever would? We love our children too much for that.

One time when my son Ben was three or four, he asked for a cracker for snack time. I opened the box and found that they were moldy. I said, “I’m sorry, you can’t eat these. They are covered with fuzz.” He said, “I’ll eat the fuzz.” But I said no. He was not happy, but I loved him and would not give him a fuzzy cracker, no matter how much he pleaded.

So when Jesus says he will give good things, he means that. Only good things. And only he knows ultimately what is good for us. And notice, when he says dads don’t give stones when asked for bread, he does not say dads always give bread. Just no stones. And when he says, dads don’t give snakes for fish, he does not say dads always give fish. Just no snakes.

The point is this: God ignores no prayers from his children. And he gives us what we ask for, or something better (not necessarily easier), if we trust him.

One more point: The word “so” at the beginning of verse 12 means that verse 12 is an inference from this teaching on prayer. “So” — since God always gives you what you need when you ask — “whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them.” In other words, because God loves and cares for you so much, you will be able to care about others the same way you care about yourself. Which means that confidence in prayer is one of the keys to love.

Thou art coming to a King,
Large petitions with thee bring;
For His grace and power are such,
None can ever ask too much.

When a Rock Sunk Slowly

The new banner above has its inspiration from the following story about Peter’s walking on (and sinking in) the water (see Matthew 14:13–33 and John 6:1–21). We must think carefully about this because in following Jesus we are called to do essentially the same thing.

The day had been another mind-blower for the disciples.

As they rowed toward Capernaum it was hard to stop talking about what they had seen. Five thousand men, plus women and children, and Jesus had fed them all! With one boy’s lunch! The power Jesus commanded both thrilled and unnerved them.

And they had felt the heady momentum of surging public support when the massive picnic turned into a “Jesus for king” rally. The people had begun to understand! The Messiah had arrived! The kingdom was beginning to emerge right before their eyes.

And then it had all ended so strangely. Surprisingly, Jesus was visibly disturbed by the crowd’s enthusiasm and he moved quickly to douse it with hard, confusing words. The people’s support soured to disillusionment.

Jesus could be so hard to figure out.

And why had he been in such a hurry for them to get to Capernaum that he had them row by night? And why were they to leave without him? They had taken the last boat on the shore. If Jesus intended to join them in Capernaum by morning, it was going to be one whale of a walk.

Then the wind picked up and the waves grew stronger, pushing against every pull of the oars. This was going to add hours to the trip. Adrenaline-fueled discussion was replaced by fatigue-fueled irritability. One of them commented that at this speed, Jesus would probably beat them there on foot.

Just then another shouted, “What’s that?” All eyes strained sternward. A form was approaching in the murky dark. Peter stood up on the small rear deck and looked hard. It could not possibly be what it looked like. But soon it was unmistakable. Someone — or something — was walking toward them across the water! An unearthly fear seized the men. One spoke in a hushed panic: “It is a ghost!” The rowers found new energy.

But a familiar voice called to them, “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.”

Jesus? It sounded like Jesus. But he was walking on top the water! Maybe a spirit could do that, but not a human! Peter motioned to the rowers to stop. It was Jesus. Mouths hung open but no one had words.

Except Peter. “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” Every astonished face turned to Peter. No one else had even thought of that yet. Jesus responded, “Come.”

So Peter sat on the gunwale, swung his legs over the side, and carefully put his weight on what should have engulfed him. Then stood up. There was a collective gasp from the boat. One degree of surreal to another. Then he began to take tentative steps toward Jesus. The others held their breath.

Suddenly Peter froze. He looked down at the waves drenching his legs. There was panic in his eyes. Then he began to sink, as if into mud. He reached out toward Jesus and cried, “Lord, save me!” Jesus stepped forward, reached out, grabbed his arm, and pulled him up. Peter, looking intensely at Jesus, was breathing hard.

Jesus said to him with affectionate firmness said, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

Peter showed remarkable faith in asking to follow Jesus out on to the water. No one else did.

But when he began walking, what held him up? We might quickly assume it was his faith. But that’s not accurate. Peter’s faith wasn’t keeping him afloat. Jesus was. Peter knew that. That’s why he didn’t just leap out of the boat on his own. He asked Jesus to command him to come. What Jesus did was honor Peter’s faith by commanding the water to bear his weight.

Lesson #1: faith is not faith in our faith in Jesus, it’s faith in the power of Jesus’ word.

But once Peter was outside the safety of the boat, on uncharted waters, everything started feeling precarious. Why? Well, because people don’t actually walk on water. We may be so familiar to the story that the ridiculousness of walking on water doesn’t strike us. But it struck Peter at that moment.

And he started to sink.

But have you ever noticed that Peter the Rock didn’t sink like a rock? The last time you jumped into a pool, how gradually did you sink? There’s something profound going on here.

Peter began to sink when his faith shifted from the firmness of Jesus’ word to the instability of his circumstance. And when he did, it was Jesus letting him sink — slowly. And for Peter that was a grace.

Why? Because Peter’s sinking produced his cry to Jesus. It quickly got Peter to stop looking to the world or himself as the source of truth and salvation and got his focus back on his Savior. When he did that Jesus pulled him back up.

Lesson #2: Jesus’ word is truer and stronger than what we see or feel, and when we doubt that, sometimes he graciously lets us sink to help us refocus.

Trusting in Jesus and his word over our perceptions is difficult to learn. That’s why the Lord takes us through so many different faith-testing, faith-building experiences.

And when he does, it is never for just our own benefit. He’s displaying his power so others’ faith will be strengthened too. And, like the rest of the disciples, once Jesus and Peter were back in the boat, we end up saying to the Lord, “Truly you are the Son of God” (Matthew 14:33).

This meditation is included in the forthcoming book Not by Sight: A Fresh Look at Old Stories of Walking by Faith (Crossway, April 30, 2013).

Atonement Justice

The recent death of Oglala Sioux actor and activist Russell Means brought brief but broad attention to the chronic issues plaguing Native American communities in the United States. Means, who was quite a controversial figure, brought national attention to the poverty and discrimination suffered by many in Native communities in the 1970's and 1980's. He is credited with reviving the warrior image of the American Indian through guerrilla-tactic protests against the United States injustice against its indigenous peoples.(1)

One tragic episode of injustice was called “The Trail of Tears.” This was the name given to the forced relocation of the Cherokee Nation from their home among the mountains of North Georgia to the plains of Oklahoma.(2) In one of the saddest episodes of the fledgling democracy of the United States, men, women, and children were taken from their land, herded into makeshift forts with minimal facilities and food, and then forced to march a thousand miles. Human loss for the first groups of Cherokee removed from North Georgia was extremely high. While records reflect differing accounts of casualties, some estimate that about 4000 Cherokee died as a result of the removal.

The story of Native American relocation is now a part of the history of the developing United States, where the North Georgia story is not unique. Russell Means and many other activists for Indian causes remind us that other trails of tears were forged in the land from east to west.  While there were minority voices protesting against these federal government policies concerning relocation, including Davy Crockett (better known for his failed stand at the Texas Alamo), they were few and far between.(3) The country that had swelled on a tide of freedom also had an undertow of injustice toward its Native peoples.

In human terms, the crucifixion of Jesus demonstrates a horrible injustice committed against him. While Christians believe that God was at work even in the midst of this act of injustice, Jesus had committed no crime deserving of this death reserved for the worst criminals. He was falsely accused, tortured, and nailed to the cross. Formal theology looks at the “injustice” of the crucifixion and seeks to explain the meaning of the event. Some theologians suggest that the atonement stands as the preeminent example of a sacrificial life in the face of injustice—an example which followers of Jesus are called to model in their own lives. Others see the Cross as the ultimate symbol of divine love or a demonstration of God’s divine justice against sin as the violation of his perfect law. Still others suggest the Cross overcame the forces of sin and evil, restored God’s honor in relation to God’s holiness and righteousness, and served as a substitution for the death we all deserved because of sin.(4)

While the meaning of the atonement may include a portion of all of these theories, I wonder about how the atonement might bring meaning to events like those suffered by Native peoples. And I wonder about how the atonement speaks to the personal injustices we all suffer, or commit against one another. Does the reality of the atonement give present meaning to the many injustices experienced and felt by many in today’s world?

The word atonement itself indicates that the willing offer by Jesus to absorb the injustices of the world creates the possibility to be at one, set right with God, and with one another. The apostle Paul indicates this in his second letter to the Corinthian Christians: “Now all these things are from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and gave us the ministry of reconciliation, namely that God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and he has committed to us the word of reconciliation” (2 Corinthians 5:18-19).

Christians believe that the enactment of reconciliation by God even through the human injustice perpetrated against Jesus, enjoins them to a ministry of reconciliation and justice. And the word of reconciliation—namely, that God has not counted our trespasses against us—frees us to give   the ministry of reconciling forgiveness to one another. Forgiveness, then, paves the way for justice.

I wish Russell Means could have known about many of these reconciling ministries. While at a local church gathering, I was introduced to a ministry that works with urban-dwelling Native Americans. Most are homeless and many struggle with alcohol and drug addiction. Like me, these individuals are far removed from the Trail of Tears. But like me, this organization wonders what meaning to assign to a tragic past. Clearly, all of us carry the events of our past into our present lives. In some cases, painful hurts and histories have ongoing repercussions. Cycles of violence, addiction, and despair are shaped, in part, by the meaning assigned to these past events. Therefore, this ministry seeks to reassign new meaning to difficult pasts through reconciliation and forgiveness.

In the same way, Christians who affirm the atonement of Jesus also affirm a God who enjoins them to do justice on behalf of others. The atonement gives meaning to the past that is redemptive for the present. Recognizing both our need for forgiveness and the need to offer forgiveness, we give meaning to those who need atonement today. Not simply an act of injustice perpetrated against Jesus, the atonement brings life, as surely as it binds us to give life to others.

(1) Robert D. McFadden, “Russell Means, Who Clashed With Law as He Fought for Indians, Is Dead at 72.” The New York Times, October 22, 2012.
(2) “The Trail of Tears,” About North Georgia, http://ngeorgia.com/history/nghisttt.html, accessed February 16, 2010.
(3) Ibid.
(4) Theories of the atonement as highlighted in Millard Erickson, Christian Theology (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 1983), 781-823.

Crucible of Lament

In today’s world, it is often difficult to summon optimism. Bad news swirls around us blowing our hopes and dreams like leaves in the fall wind. In this gale, we often find it hard to cling to hope and to a sense that the future will be a bright one. In general, I see myself as an optimistic person. I try to find the bright side of bad situations, and I work hard to walk the extra mile to give others the benefit of the doubt in personal relationships. I am not a naïve optimist like the character Pangloss in Voltaire’s biting satire Candide. When it is clear the ship is sinking, I don’t believe everything will be alright nor do I believe, as Pangloss would, that the sinking ship is the best thing that could happen to me. I do all that I can to bail out the rising water, even as I wrestle against the fear and anxiety that accompanies impending disaster!

Yet despite my generally optimistic attitude and outlook, there are times when sadness overwhelms me. It may be a growing storm of weary longing or a tide of lonely isolation that sweeps over me, drowning me with a dolor that submerges my hope. Sometimes it occurs when I think about the aging process and our hopeless fight against it. Sometimes it occurs when I am in the grocery line, looking at the baggers and clerks who wonder if this is all they will ever do for work. Oftentimes, it occurs when I cannot see the good through all the violence and evil that oppresses the world and its people. I can easily become overwhelmed by the numbers of people who are forgotten by our society—the last, the least, and the lost among us—and wonder who is there to help and to save them from drowning.

It is in these times that I befriend lament. And I take great comfort in the loud cries and mourning that have echoed throughout time and history as captured in the poems, songs, and statements of lament. Indeed, a great portion of the Hebrew Scriptures comes in the form of lament, both individual and communal lament. The Psalms, as the hymnal of Israel, record the deepest cries of agony, anger, confusion, disorientation, sorrow, grief, and protest. In so doing, they express hope that the God who delivered them in the exodus from Egypt, would once again deliver by listening and responding to their lament.(1)  The prophets of Israel, who cry out in times of exile, present some of the most heart-wrenching cries to God in times of deep sorrow and distress. One can hear the anguish in Jeremiah’s cry, “Why has my pain been perpetual and my wound incurable, refusing to be healed? Will God indeed be to me like a deceptive stream with water that is unreliable?” (Jeremiah 15:18). In addition, Jeremiah cries out on behalf of the people of Judah: “Harvest is past, summer is ended, and we are not saved. For the brokenness of the daughter of my people I am broken; I mourn, dismay has taken hold of me. Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there? Why then has not the health of the daughter of my people been restored?” (Jeremiah 8:20-22).

As I listen to Jeremiah’s cries, I recognize that they arise out of a deep love for the very people he often had to speak against. As Abraham Joshua Heschel notes, “[Jeremiah] was a person overwhelmed by sympathy for God and sympathy for man. Standing before the people he pleaded for God. Standing before God he pleaded for his people.”(2) In this same tradition, Jesus cried out with deep longing about the people in his own day, “If you had known in this day, even you, the things which make for peace” (Luke 19:42). It is more than appropriate for us to weep and lament over the terrible condition of the world—a condition that all too often, we participate in and condone.

Many face realities in life that feel completely overwhelming: death, and loss, poverty, hunger, homelessness, job loss or under-employment, relational disruption. Lament seems the only appropriate response for those who find themselves on the losing end of things, or who through no fault of their own always find themselves in last place or left behind. Lament arises from looking honestly at these realities for what they are, and wishing for something else.

Yet it has been said that “the cry of pain is our deepest acknowledgment that we are not home.” The author continues, “We are divided from our own body; our own deepest desires; our dearest relationships. We are separated and long for utter restoration. It is the cry of pain that initiates the search to ask God, ‘What are you doing?’ It is this element of a lament that has the potential to change the heart.”(3) If this is true, then the overwhelming sorrow or feelings of bitterness over having to deal with what feels like more than one’s share of the harsh yet inevitable realities of life are, in fact, the crucible for real change. The same waters of despair that seek to drown and overwhelm are the waters of cleansing. Therefore, let the tears flow! The writers of Scripture give witness to the overwhelming compassion of God in the midst of grief: “For if [the LORD] causes grief, then He will have compassion according to his abundant lovingkindness.”(4) Perhaps, as we remember the one who was described as a “man of sorrows” who was “acquainted with grief,” lament offers a crucible in which we might experience a better compassion and care. Indeed, lament may yet have its own way of transformation.

(1) Barish Golan, “A Look at Lament Songs in the Bible,” www.disciplestoday.org.
(2) Abraham Heschel, The Prophets (New York: Harper Collins, 1962), 154-155.
(3) Dan Allender, “The Hidden Hope in Lament,” Mars Hill Review, Premier Issue, 1994, 25-38.
(4) Lamentations 3:32.

God as Psychological Crutch

God as Psychological Crutch

I remember getting into a cab outside a central London church. The cabbie took one look at my Bible and launched into his opinion of Christianity. He explained to me that belief in God is a crutch for weak, pathetic people who don’t have the strength to take responsibility for their own lives. When I answered, “Thank you very much,” with just a hint of irony, he blustered on with, “Well, I’m just saying it for your own good. A girl like you doesn’t need religion!”

This idea that Christian faith is a psychological crutch for needy people is a pervasive one, based on a number of assumptions. The first is that God is merely a psychological projection: he doesn’t actually exist in any real sense, but exists only in the minds of his followers, who have created him out of their own need—a need for a father figure or a need to give significance to their existence. The most famous proponent of this view was the Austrian neurologist and founder of psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud (1856-1939). In arguing against the existence of God, Freud theorized that one’s view of God springs from the view one has of one’s father. When people grow up and find themselves thrust into the cruel, cold world, they look for a haven of security and protection from it. An adult can no longer look to parents for this protection, if he or she is to maintain dignity. Yet, Freud mused, we look for another “Someone” to do this job for us and this leads to the idea of a “Higher Power” or God.

From this perspective, God is merely a creation of the human mind, a projection emanating from human need and desire rather than a distinct reality. For Freud, God is made in humanity’s own image, the “ultimate wish-fulfillment,” the end product of human desire for a loving father.

Can God really be explained away so easily by one aspect of psychology? One obvious point to make is that the argument about projection cuts both ways. After all, isn’t it equally possible to say that Freud and other atheists deny the existence of God out of a need to escape from a father figure, or to argue that the non-existence of God springs from a deep-seated desire for no father figure to exist?

Clearly this doesn’t prove that God is real, but it does show that Freud’s arguments cannot prove that God does not exist while at the same time helping us tackle the question of projection. After all, dismissing God as a psychological projection while claiming neutrality in our own psyche is disingenuous at best and cannot be an adequate basis for rejecting God.

It also quickly becomes apparent that a Freudian belief in God as a human projection cannot provide us with an explanation for the Christian faith of converts such as C.S. Lewis or Alister McGrath, who would rather not believe but find themselves compelled by the evidence that Christianity is true and real.

In fact, we may go further by suggesting that a desire for a God who can fulfill our needs and provide moral order exists precisely because human beings have been created to desire him. The man floating on a raft at sea is unbearably thirsty, but he won’t get a drink of water simply by being thirsty. But the very existence of his thirst does show that a way for his desire to be satisfied actually exists: fresh water. As C.S. Lewis put it, “Creatures are not born with desires unless satisfaction for those desires exists.” Ultimately for the Christian the important question is not whether I have a psychological need for a father figure, or a desire for a father figure not to exist. Rather, the question is about what actually exists: Is God really there? The way to come to any conclusions about that is to investigate the evidence for his existence.

The second assumption we encounter is that because belief in God provides the faithful with a crutch, this means it is somehow suspect. The skeptic implies that since the believer finds protection from the cruelty of nature and the evil of the world, the idea of God is like a talisman, an irrational superstition. But surely, if belief in God provides a positive moral framework that helps people to live constructively, that is not a reason to disbelieve. Similarly, if relationship with God enables to believer to find healing, wholeness, and comfort in the midst of human suffering, we should not be surprised.  After all, if God is real, God’s existence will have a massive impact on life and on the experience of life. It is only if God is not real that we ought to be worried about the “crutch” God provides.

Finally, the third assumption is that people who make use of this “crutch” of relationship with God, and find it practical, meaningful, and effective, must be weak or inferior. This is a rather strange idea, since surely it makes sense to access real sources of support and relationship that are there for us. If a God of love does exist, the rational thing to do is accept that love, to come to know it. Entering into that relationship will have a positive effect, and that does not make the person weaker than or somehow inferior to anyone else. On the contrary, it is the logical, reasonable response if God himself is real.