There is a certain beauty that exists, and it exists in places where we do not seek it. As an atheist who believes in God, I am puzzled by contradiction; why is it that something must be so and another not-so. That thought is a beauty which exists and it exists in a place where we do not seek it. I have sought it and it lingers before me like the tender fragrance of lavender I planted and crushed with my fingers.
I have narrowed down my lack of faith to some general areas:
- There can be no God for we have created God; when we die, any God we might have dies with us.
- God created the possibility of an intelligence that could rejoice in something greater; an intelligence that could even doubt the penultimate Creator.
- Doubt is a gift from God to test the hearts of the faithful; only when we allow ourselves the freedom to doubt do we find the freedom to believe.
- God loves it when we obtain a vicarious maturity, strong enough to say to God: “I don’t believe in you.”
- God loves it when we obtain a vicarious humility, strong enough to say to God: “Who am I to doubt someone greater than me?”
I lay myself down upon the burly pavement of others when I recognize that Jesus, who is God, is the face of the God we, in our limited minds, cannot fathom. We will never be able to capture the entire infinity, the entire existence of God; except through the Man-God Jesus. He who deigned to incarnate; he who deigned from a zenith-high to take a nadir-low in his own creation in order to feel the highs and lows, the joys, the sadness, the tender sensual-loving-moments with a brown-eyed woman, the sadness, the blows, the spittle, the jeers, the taunting, with flesh tearing on a horrible cross; to acknowledge that faith can only truly come after one doubts his very Maker. We can even hear it now in our hearts: eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani. It is in the beauty of doubt that we see the Ultimate Reality that surrounds us, like a fine goose-down blanket on a cold Virginia night.
I acknowledge my lack of faith and my doubt; my pitiful weakness; especially as I see Jesus look at me, take me by the hand, lift me up, kiss me on the lips, breath into me the spirit of life, and whisper into my ear: Brian, Brian, I have not forsaken you.
Yes, this mind contemplates a certain beauty that exists. Maybe it’s only in my mind; but I seriously doubt it. For this tortured mind of mine, without the Mind of God, would not be the beauty for which I struggle.