God or Delusion?

Absurd Beliefs

Constructive Criticism: A Response to June 17th

This is part of my year-long series exploring human-centered alternatives to the spiritual promises in Oswald Chambers’ classic devotional My Utmost for His Highest. Today’s entry, “The Uncritical Temper”, promises that believers can cultivate an “uncritical temper” through spiritual discipline, with the Holy Spirit uniquely able to correct “without causing pain,” and God providing “spiritual spring-cleaning” that eliminates pride and judgment.

Here’s what actually happened:

“The Holy Spirit alone can correct without wounding,” Pastor Thompson assured the leadership team. “Once God gives you spiritual spring-cleaning, you’ll lose all desire to judge others.”

David took this seriously. After all, Jesus had commanded “do not judge.” Surely spiritual maturity meant eliminating critical thoughts about other church members entirely. He prayed daily for the promised uncritical spirit, waiting for God to cleanse his judgmental tendencies.

Months passed. David still noticed the worship leader’s consistently flat notes. He couldn’t ignore the treasurer’s chaotic financial reports. He felt frustrated when the same members strolled in twenty minutes late every Sunday.

Where was the divine transformation? The guilt began crushing him. Every critical observation felt like spiritual failure. The harder he suppressed these thoughts, the louder they became. He begged God for the promised spring-cleaning that would finally make him the non-judgmental disciple Jesus demanded.

God’s response? Deafening silence.

His wife Sarah watched this internal war with growing concern. She’d taken a different path—studying communication and conflict resolution instead of praying for personality transformation. Sarah learned that critical observations often contained valuable information about real problems.

When the church’s financial audit revealed serious irregularities, David was paralyzed. His critical thoughts about the treasurer had been accurate, but wasn’t questioning her character exactly what Jesus forbade? He waited desperately for divine guidance about whether investigating constituted sinful judgment.

Again, silence.

Sarah saw the situation clearly: financial accountability wasn’t character assassination—it was organizational responsibility. She helped David understand that stewardship required critical thinking, not spiritual passivity.

“Maybe your critical thoughts aren’t sin,” Sarah suggested. “Maybe they’re your brain working properly.”

The breakthrough came when David realized he’d been waiting years for a divine personality transplant that was never coming. No Holy Spirit intervention was cleansing his capacity for judgment. No spiritual spring-cleaning was transforming his critical nature.

Sarah’s approach—treating criticism as information rather than spiritual failure—proved infinitely more practical. She could address problems directly without the paralyzing guilt that made David useless in actual conflicts.

The real spring-cleaning happened when David stopped expecting supernatural character transformation and started learning human skills for expressing concerns constructively. His critical thinking wasn’t a bug to be spiritually debugged—it was a feature to be properly calibrated.

The silence from heaven wasn’t divine disappointment in his judgmental nature. It was the absence of a deity who was never there to transform him in the first place.

Reflection Question: When has learning to express critical observations constructively been more helpful than trying to eliminate critical thinking entirely?

This story is part of my upcoming book “The Undevoted: Daily Departures from Divine Dependence,” which offers 365 human-centered alternatives to the spiritual certainties in Chambers’ devotional. Each day explores how reason, community, and human resilience can address life’s challenges without requiring divine intervention.

How Religion is Destroying Civilization

Sustainable Service: A Response to June 16th

This is part of my year-long series exploring human-centered alternatives to the spiritual promises in Oswald Chambers’ classic devotional My Utmost for His Highest. Today’s entry, “What Do You Make of This?”, promises that believers can deliberately “lay down our lives” for Jesus through daily heroic sacrifice, with God providing the Holy Spirit to enable loyal devotion despite opposing circumstances, claiming that Christ’s honor is literally “at stake” in believers’ lives.

Here’s what that actually looks like:

“Christ’s honor is at stake in your life,” Pastor Williams would say, and for fifteen years, Maria Gonzalez believed him.

She’d sacrificed her nursing career to serve as the church’s unpaid children’s director, convinced God had called her to this heroic daily devotion. Sixty hours a week developing curricula, training volunteers, counseling families—while her husband worked double shifts to compensate for her unpaid labor. The Holy Spirit was supposed to sustain this sacrifice, she’d been taught. Her loyalty to Jesus was being tested.

Where was that supernatural sustenance? Maria developed chronic fatigue, anxiety. Her marriage cracked under financial pressure. Her own children felt abandoned while she mothered everyone else’s kids. When she tried setting boundaries, church leadership quoted today’s verse: laying down your life means exactly that—total sacrifice for Christ’s honor.

The breaking point wasn’t spiritual. It was brutally practical.

Maria’s teenage daughter started cutting herself. In family therapy, the counselor asked uncomfortable questions about Maria’s emotional availability for her own family. No mention of divine calling or heroic sacrifice—just cold reality: children need present, emotionally available parents.

For the first time, Maria wondered if her “sacrificial service” was destroying the people she loved most. She waited for divine confirmation, some supernatural guidance about her calling.

Silence.

No divine voice. No Holy Spirit conviction. Just the mounting evidence that something was catastrophically wrong with a system that demanded a mother’s complete absence from her struggling child’s life.

Her friend Carmen had escaped a similar church trap two years earlier. Carmen now worked as a pediatric nurse—still serving children, but with fair compensation, professional boundaries, actual time off. She found deep meaning in healing work without needing to frame it as laying down her life for an invisible deity.

When Maria finally resigned and returned to nursing, the divine silence was thunderous. No disappointed God withdrawing blessing. No spiritual consequences for abandoning her “calling.” Just ordinary relief at having a sustainable schedule and fair paycheck.

Her family relationships healed immediately. Her daughter’s therapy accelerated with Maria emotionally present. Financial pressure evaporated. Her marriage recovered.

The “heroic” sacrifice that supposedly honored Christ had actually brutalized her family’s basic needs. The higher calling had been cover for the church’s refusal to properly compensate essential staff.

Christ’s honor, it turned out, wasn’t at stake in Maria’s exhaustion. But her daughter’s mental health certainly was.

The most honest moment came when Maria realized she’d been waiting fifteen years for divine empowerment that never existed, from a God who’d never been there to honor in the first place.

Reflection Question: When has stepping back from “sacrificial service” actually improved your ability to care for the people who matter most?

Typical Closed-minded Atheist

Ordinary Difficulty: A Response to June 15th

This is part of my year-long series exploring human-centered alternatives to the spiritual promises in Oswald Chambers’ classic devotional My Utmost for His Highest. Today’s entry, “The Test of Character”, promises that believers have “inherited the divine nature” and that “the omnipotent power of the grace of God” backs even the tiniest act of obedience, with God “engineering our circumstances” and routine drudgery being divinely appointed for character development.

Here’s what I witnessed instead:

When my friend Jennifer’s mother developed dementia, her pastor assured her this was God engineering circumstances for character development. “You’ve inherited the divine nature,” he said. “The omnipotent power of God’s grace will sustain you through this drudgery. Every act of caregiving has supernatural power behind it when done in obedience.”

For months, Jennifer waited for that promised divine empowerment. She changed adult diapers believing God’s grace backed each task. She repeated conversations dozens of times daily, trusting divine purpose lay behind the repetition. She stayed up nights with her increasingly agitated mother, expecting supernatural sustenance to make the drudgery meaningful.

The divine power never showed up. Jennifer grew exhausted, resentful, isolated. Her marriage strained. Her health deteriorated from chronic sleep deprivation. The promised grace was nowhere to be found when her mother didn’t recognize her, when accidents happened, when Jennifer finally snapped from sheer exhaustion.

Her brother Mark took a completely different approach. He researched dementia systematically—learning about the brain changes causing their mother’s behaviors. He connected with support groups, gathering practical strategies from families who’d actually navigated this terrain. No spiritual framework, just information and community.

Mark arranged professional respite care so Jennifer could sleep. He installed safety devices and created routines based on dementia research, not divine calling. He found an adult day program that engaged their mother’s remaining abilities while giving the family actual relief.

The “grace” that finally sustained their family came from human knowledge and community support. Mark’s research revealed their mother’s aggression wasn’t spiritual warfare but predictable neurological changes manageable with medication and environmental modifications.

When Jennifer finally accepted help from professional caregivers, she felt relief rather than spiritual failure. The young aide who helped wasn’t motivated by divine calling but by training, fair wages, and genuine compassion developed through experience.

The “omnipotent power” that made caregiving sustainable was Medicare coverage, respite programs, and evidence-based dementia care—systems created by human effort and policy. No supernatural intervention required.

Jennifer eventually discovered that accepting the ordinary difficulty of caregiving, without expecting divine transformation, freed her to seek the practical support that actually worked. Her character developed not through spiritualized drudgery but by learning to balance compassion with self-care, accepting her limitations, and collaborating with others to provide dignified care.

The silence where God’s engineering was supposed to be? That silence was the most honest thing about the whole experience.

Reflection Question: When has accepting the ordinary difficulty of a situation, without expecting spiritual transformation, led to more effective solutions?

When God Fails…Blame the Believer

Realistic Acceptance: A Response to June 14th

This is part of my year-long series exploring human-centered alternatives to the spiritual promises in Oswald Chambers’ classic devotional My Utmost for His Highest. Today’s entry, “Get a Move On”, promises that believers can “construct, with patience and determination, a way of thinking that is exactly in line with” Jesus, achieving the same “inner abiding that was never disturbed” through bringing “every thought into captivity” and learning to “abide in Jesus” in all circumstances.

Here’s a different approach:

When Rachel’s husband was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s at age 58, her pastor urged her to “abide in Jesus” through the crisis. “Construct a way of thinking in line with Christ,” he advised. “Bring every anxious thought into captivity. God wants you to have the same inner serenity Jesus had, accepting whatever circumstances the Father chooses for you.”

Rachel tried desperately to achieve this promised spiritual serenity. She spent hours in prayer, attempting to “abide in Jesus” while managing doctor appointments, legal paperwork, and her husband’s increasing confusion. She forced herself to accept their circumstances as God’s will, believing that anxiety revealed a lack of faith.

But the promised inner peace never came. Rachel found herself constantly agitated, grieving the loss of their future plans, terrified of the financial implications, and overwhelmed by caregiving responsibilities. Her attempts to “bring every thought into captivity” only created additional pressure to maintain a spiritual composure she couldn’t achieve.

Meanwhile, her neighbor Linda faced her own family crisis when her teenage daughter was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Instead of seeking spiritual serenity, Linda educated herself about mental health. She joined a support group for families affected by bipolar disorder, learning practical strategies from other parents who understood the unique challenges.

Linda didn’t try to construct Christ-like thinking or achieve undisturbed inner abiding. She acknowledged her fears, sought professional guidance, and developed realistic expectations for managing her daughter’s condition. She learned about medication compliance, warning signs of episodes, and how to create a stable home environment.

The “acceptance” Linda achieved wasn’t spiritual submission to divine circumstances but informed understanding of her daughter’s medical condition. Her openness came not from abiding in Jesus but from honest conversations with her daughter, her therapist, and other families navigating similar challenges.

When Rachel observed Linda’s practical approach, she realized that her attempts to achieve spiritual serenity had prevented her from accessing helpful resources. She joined an Alzheimer’s caregivers support group, where she found people who understood her fears without expecting her to transform them through spiritual discipline.

Rachel discovered that “abiding” in her actual circumstances—with all their difficulty and uncertainty—was more helpful than trying to abide in an idealized spiritual state. The peace she eventually found came not from undisturbed inner communion but from practical knowledge, community support, and accepting her human limitations rather than striving for Christ-like serenity.

Reflection Question: When has accepting your actual emotional responses been more helpful than trying to achieve spiritual serenity through disciplined thinking?

Why Belief Isn’t A Choice

Authentic Service: A Response to June 13th

This is part of my year-long series exploring human-centered alternatives to the spiritual promises in Oswald Chambers’ classic devotional My Utmost for His Highest. Today’s entry, “Come with Me”, promises that disciples can learn to “abide in Jesus” in any condition, receiving a spiritual “new name” that completely erases pride and self-sufficiency, with Jesus making his permanent dwelling with those who let him “be everything.”

Here’s a different approach:

When Amy felt called to missionary work in her early twenties, her pastor encouraged her to “consecrate your right to yourself” to God and trust him to make a “holy experiment” of her life. “Abandon your natural preferences,” he urged. “Let God engineer your circumstances, and you’ll have spontaneous obedience and moral originality.”

Amy took this advice seriously. She suppressed her introverted nature and discomfort with evangelism, believing these were selfish preferences that needed to be surrendered. She accepted a missions assignment in Brazil despite having no aptitude for languages and feeling overwhelmed by large group ministry. “God’s experiments always succeed,” she reminded herself.

But the promised transformation never came. Amy struggled with Portuguese, felt drained by constant social interaction, and found herself ineffective at the evangelistic work that felt so unnatural to her. Instead of moral originality, she experienced anxiety and burnout. Rather than spontaneous obedience, she forced herself through daily activities that depleted her energy and confidence.

Meanwhile, her friend Sarah took a different approach to serving others. Instead of abandoning her natural temperament, Sarah worked with it. She recognized her gifts for one-on-one mentoring and her love of research and writing. Rather than forcing herself into missionary evangelism, she developed programs for local refugee resettlement.

Sarah didn’t consecrate her “right to herself” but rather consecrated her actual self—with all its quirks and limitations—to meaningful service. She used her natural analytical skills to research effective integration programs. Her preference for deep relationships over large groups made her an excellent mentor for refugee families navigating new systems.

The “holy experiment” that succeeded was Sarah’s decision to serve authentically rather than forcing herself into an ill-fitting spiritual mold. Her work had real impact because it aligned with her strengths rather than fighting against her temperament. The freshness in her ministry came not from a divine wellspring but from doing work that energized rather than drained her.

When Amy returned from Brazil after a difficult two years, she felt like a spiritual failure. But observing Sarah’s sustainable service helped her realize that effective ministry might require embracing rather than abandoning her natural design. Amy found her own path serving through behind-the-scenes administrative work that supported other missionaries—work that felt natural and produced genuine results.

The invitation Amy eventually extended to others wasn’t “Come, abandon yourself” but “Come, discover how your authentic gifts can serve real needs.”

Reflection Question: When has working with your natural temperament and preferences been more effective than trying to abandon them for spiritual service?