The Atheist's Sermon

I heard an atheist preach a sermon one day.

He said that his only consolation was that eventually, our universe would cease to be and that all traces of his life, with all his hopes and failures, would be washed away.

That was his hope of redemption.

Nothingness.

His surety rested on the idea that we are utterly insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

That we are nothing.

That this miracle of existence, of consciousness, of life is absolutely meaningless.

Without meaning, it would be impossible to fail at life.

So he believed.

Call me an unbeliever, but I cannot swallow his doctrine.

Without meaning, life is impossible.

To be physically blind would be a terrible thing.

To be blind to the splendor and meaning of life is on quite another level of terror.

How could perfect order and intricate beauty be born of total chaos?

Even the chaos would be an impossible miracle.

And yet, there is chaos in the beauty.

Like the Atheist, I see the need for redemption.

I see the pain. The mistakes. The dying.

I recognize the brokenness in need of a perfect cleansing.

A cleansing as infinite as the great void in which he trusts.

Only the power that authored such wonder could bring it back to perfection.

Could bring peace and rest to the wanderer.

Could redeem him.