But what about those people who do not believe? Why don’t they accept what we have accepted? What’s wrong with them?

Perhaps nothing is wrong with them. A relativist would say that, although their frame of mind is different from mine, it is no better or worse, no closer to or farther from reality. If so, then I should just them alone.

Perhaps they have never heard anyone present the gospel. (In the United States, this is possible but unlikely.) If so, then I should try to evangelize them and present the gospel to them.

Perhaps they have not been given enough evidence to convince them that the gospel accounts are true, that Jesus rose from the dead, etc. If so, then I should give them a book by Lee Strobel or Josh McDowell.

Perhaps they were abused by unloving, judgmental or hypocritical Christians who misrepresented Christ to them. If so, then I should love them and show them that not all Christians are bad, and that Jesus is far better than the church.

Perhaps they are fools. That is a distinct possibility. After all, the fool says in his heart, “There is no God” (Psalm 14:10). If so, then I am not sure what to do, because the Bible gives conflicting advice. Proverbs 26:4 says, “Do not answer a fool according to his folly…” And the next verse, Proverbs 26:5, says, “Answer a fool according to his folly…”

Perhaps they are simply rebelling against God, refusing to accept his Lordship because they want to glorify themselves, enjoy sinful human freedom, whatever. If so, then I should do whatever I can to expose their sinfulness and awake their consciences.

Or perhaps, for some mysterious reason known only to God, they have not yet been gifted as I have. At the end of Angels and Demons (which, by the way, is not such a bad movie), the character played by Tom Hanks says, “Faith is a gift that I have yet to receive.”

That last answer raises all sorts of difficult theological questions that in this present life we may never be able to resolve. Yet in many cases, this is the only answer that seems to make sense. There are plenty of good people who are better, more sincere, and smarter than I, who have grown up in the presence of Christians and do not hate what they have seen, who have read plenty of books by C.S. Lewis, who see the goodness and beauty of Christianity, and still have not put their faith in Jesus. Not because they don’t want to, but because they feel that they cannot, and if they did it would be a false conversion.

It’s a strange thing to be evangelizing people and encouraging them to believe if we don’t really know what faith is. And the Bible does not tell us. The closest thing to a definition of faith appears in Hebrews 11:1: “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.” Faith is inherently paradoxical. A kind of certainty in the midst of uncertainty. A knowledge of something that is otherwise unknowable. It is an ex nihilo creation, making something out of nothing, which God can do but we cannot.

For those who believe, faith is a sixth sense. It picks up things that we cannot see, hear, touch, smell or taste. A reality may be detected by multiple senses, or by just one, or not at all. If my house is on fire, I might not be aware of it. Or I might smell the smoke before I feel the heat, see the flames, etc.  Each of our five senses is a wonderful gift. If there is a spiritual/heavenly realm beyond the material/earthly, then there must be realities that cannot be picked up by any of our five senses. We would need another sensory system to detect those realities, and that too would be an unmerited gift.

Last night, my wife stumbled upon this Youtube video on “How to convert an atheist.” The maker of this video, a man who calls himself “the Fighting Atheist,” is obviously familiar with Christian apologetics in the Josh McDowell/Lee Strobel vein and remains thoroughly unconvinced. In this video, he explains to Christians the kind of historical and experiential evidence that he would need to accept a religion as true, and he says that is he were presented with this evidence, he would convert on the spot.

I think that the whole premise of this video is wrong. Yet this premise could be as widespread among modern Christians as it is among atheists.

Suppose that Mr. Fighting Atheist is telling the truth. Suppose that he really would convert and self-identify as Christian if presented with the right evidence. If so, would he then have faith? Would he be a child of God?

I don’t think so. The kind of knowledge that he would have — evidentiary knowledge accumulated through the material senses – is not faith at all. Changing one’s mind about whether a particular religion is correct is not the same thing as coming to faith. Biblical faith is a knowledge of reality that goes beyond what can be seen. It’s as if the Fighting Atheist were saying, “I will accept that blue is different from yellow when I can clearly taste the difference with my own ears.” 

One of my sons is colorblind. If his vision had never been tested by a professional, we would never have known it. And even though we know it, it doesn’t make any difference; he still cannot distinguish certain colors.

Certainly there are many nonbelievers who are ignorant, misinformed, rebellious, foolish, abused, unloved, desiring to sin, etc. (Plenty of Christians fall into those categories as well.) Are those things ”the reasons” why they do not believe? Or are they simply handicapped, lacking the God-given ability to discern spiritual reality?

Meeting a handicapped person evokes a wide range of conflicting emotions among those of us who are supposedly “normal.” We experience discomfort. Curiosity. Pity. Respect. Awe. We desire to help them without being condescending. We want to put aside the disability and recognize them “for who they truly are,” yet the disability is a large part of who they truly are. We want to put a positive spin on the situation and see the handicap as a gift. Indeed, a disability in one area of life does often bring out good things in other areas of life. But that does not mean that the disability is good.

The Bible doesn’t just claim that nonbelievers are handicapped. It claims that they are dead. More accurately, it claims that they are not yet born. This is the key idea in John chapter 3 where Jesus talks to Nicodemus. Nicodemus is not a bad guy. He is not proud, ignorant, morally deficient, insincere, or holding on to any false doctrines. In fact, Nicodemus is exemplary in every way. His “spirtual problem” is that he cannot see the kingdom of God. He has no God-given ability to perceive spiritual reality because his soul has not yet come alive. And there is nothing that he can do to come alive, because regeneration (new birth) is the work of the Holy Spirit.

If you could have a five-minute conversation with the Fighting Atheist, what would you say to him? I have a rough idea of what I would say. But I would like to hear from you.

Each evening of the trip, all 26 participants would sit in a circle for a time for reflection. The final evening, the reflections were dominated by questions of whether or not we could really take the lessons we learned back to our normal lives. I know I’ve previously felt similar spiritual ‘highs’ after a great retreat or trip. They always seemed to fade to some degree though when faced with entrance back into a lukewarm Christian American society. This might have been the case, given my travel woes, had I not received the most inspiring faith I’ve heard in a long time on this very trip.

A family, who is very dear to me, experienced great tragedy last fall, the sort of tragedy that brings huge life plans crashing down. This tragedy brought a university and community to their knees. I tend to shy away from emotional issues, and this was no exception. I praised God when two sisters from this family decided to go on the trip, and I finally summoned the courage to talk to them about some things I had been curious about. I was amazed at their faith. They openly admitted they would not have been on this trip had it not been for the events of last fall. In the wake of terrible misfortune, they weren’t cursing and saying, ‘why me?’ They had faith in God’s plan for them.

As I sat in the airport, I knew this was God’s plan – to see if my friend and I could persevere through this inconvenience without yelling at the ticket agents and forgetting all we had learned, to see if we could still come back strong after a reality check, to see if we had faith in His plan.

Every Sunday evening, I’d stare at the big grandfather clock…waiting, wishing.  7:45pm. It takes me five minutes to get there…I’m too anxious, so I leave. 

I walk up the dark streets, watching the light bulbs flicker off when I come their way.  The streets are covered in acorns.  Acorns and cicadas. 

Their dead skins crackle beneath my instep.

I was thinking of him, that man.  Man, I say because he was more of a man than any other I’d met.  Not only was he charming, with gorgeous eyes, high cheekbones, and a muscular face, but he was intelligent, brilliant even.  A man who followed Christ with his whole heart, mind, soul, and body.  The words he spoke were like angelic chords, God’s light on the darkness of my life.  This man let Jesus work through him.  Because of that, I love.  Because of that, I care.  Because of that, I am free.  More free than ever before because, honestly, I was living a lie.  Stuck behind the bars of my own sin.  Inhibiting me from living, truly living.

So I looked forward to these Sunday night Bible studies before I even knew what was happening to me, to my soul. 

I looked forward to getting goose bumps, and hyperventilating, and feeling like my “ideals” were being ripped into shreds, being made into true moral values.  Because there was something about this man.  Something about his words, his charm, his charisma. 

Truth poured through him.  Truth that I could not get enough of, that I craved.

I sat down amidst the amoeba of bodies, all as eager as I to hear the words Matt had to say.  Even the atheists listened.  The agnostics more so.  He drew us.

When Matt spoke, he painted a picture with his words.  He took the initial breath stroke that had been painted in our brains, all crusty and falling apart, and painted over it, erasing it.  Erasing what we thought we had, what we thought we knew, replacing it with a gentle stroke that no person could argue against.

The looks of your painting depended on your heart.  It depended on whether or not your heart’s door was open.  How far open didn’t matter.  Because even if you opened it a pin-prick, Jesus could get through.  Matt’s words helped open it further.

The sad part is that some people shut it.  Once it was open and kept open, the love and beauty and understanding and peace of Jesus flowed through it like an ocean, without end.  But some saw the then unknown overflow creeping through the open door and got scared.  Panicked.

Faith?  What a scary thought. 

What an impossible dream to believe in such a loving and forgiving God.

All it took was a leap and I was hooked.  I thank God every given day of my life for having made me, out of all the billions of people on this earth, one of those fortunate enough to know and serve Him.

All it takes is a little faith.  A little leap. 

You might let go…but He never will.

So…

Why am I not the spitting image of my five closest friends?

Who am I?  I am God’s child.  A creation protected from the sin that I am so surrounded by.  I’m not perfect, but God certainly has protected me.  Like a laminated sheet of paper.  It was nothing I did.  It was God’s grace that engulfed me.

God is my Closest Friend.  He is my Five Closest Friends.

That does not mean I am His spitting image.

I’m not God.  I’m not Superwoman.  I am me.  But that me was not shaped by a death-ridden society.  That me was baptized and prayed for by too many to count.  That me was given grace and protected from the flames of moral corruption.

He is my Five Closest Friends.

So when I walk down the street with a big smile on my face as I look up to the sky, I am talking to Him.  At times I see large groups walking, yet I am alone.

Why don’t I ever feel alone? 

I never feel alone.

Ever.

I think I might just go as far to say that my Five Closest Friends are the absolute Five Closest Friends.  Because He’s not only mine.  He’s yours. 

And that’s what I’m about.

♥ Social mistake number…?  Took me a Second.  But He is my Five Closest Friends.♥

Everything was going great for me: I was a straight-A student, on the varsity basketball team, was the youngest in my ballet class to start toe shoes, and my family and social lives were going great.  Perfect, right?  Well, it wasn’t.

I attended church, but never paid much attention—I didn’t think I should have to…I felt pretty satisfied with my life already.  It came the time for me to get confirmed and I had to take a Catholic education class in order to do so.

I attended public school and my friends, knowing I was Catholic, always asked questions like: why are you pro-life? Why are you saving yourself for marriage?  I never knew the answers.  I didn’t know why the Catholic faith taught these things. 

When I took that confirmation class, I found all the answers.  Anything and everything I had ever questioned was answered.  Everything seemed to make sense.  I had finally heard Truth.  A couple of weeks into the class, my teacher noticed that I was liking what she was teaching, fully understanding, and craving more.  So, she suggested that I attend daily mass with her.  Daily mass?!  I thought church was a Sunday thing.  And now she wanted me to go every day??  It seemed excessive.  But I went, just out of curiosity and to make her happy. 

Turns out, it was one of the most inspirational experiences of my life.  I saw everyone kneeling, praying the rosary.  I was watching faith in action.  I had always thought that faith was like a set of guidelines, rules that we had to strictly abide by, but I never realized how much more it could become.  I looked on in awe as they spoke those beautiful words, “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with Thee.  Blessed art Thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of Thy womb, Jesus.  Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.  Amen” in unison.  I couldn’t explain it at the time, but there was something inside of me that wanted, deeply, to take part in that beauty, that love that illuminated those prayers’ faces.  My curiosity compelled me to go back the next day.  Awed by their dedication, I kept on going back: again, and again, and again…. 

Eventually I stopped going back out of curiosity, and started going because I wanted to for my soul.  I felt in my soul that I had to go.  I enjoyed going. 

This had a ripple effect on my whole life.  I began going to Adoration, and praying in front of the Blessed Sacrament.  I started opening up more during my nighttime prayer, and doing so more often.  I finally gained the courage to speak the Truth to my friends about the moral issues they had been asking me about all along.  And I successfully made them speechless.  After all, they had never heard anyone defend the Catholic faith before.  They had never heard the Truth.

Most importantly, I was happy.  I had finally found something that truly fulfilled me.  Having everything I had just wasn’t enough; I was missing something, or rather, someone: Jesus.  I finally could stop searching because I had Jesus, who fulfilled me completely so much that I sought nothing else. 

And right now, I seek nothing else.  Jesus is here.  He’s in me.  He’s in you.  He’s in everyone and He’s not going anywhere.  It’s all a matter of seeking Him out. 

We all have reason to believe that Jesus was the happiest man on Earth.  He lived and loved completely.  Find Him, and you will too.

That social mistake just keeps growing.

[Editor's note: Natalie is the Poet Laureate of Seed.  She is a Penn State undergraduate majoring in Communications, is an active member of everything, and likes to drive editors crazy by including unusual typographical symbols in her writing.  Enjoy.]

Wait a second…

I have always heard that one’s five closest friends added together, give or take a few complimentary idiosyncrasies, mixed up, and spit out—personality, humor, charm, morals and all—equals oneself.  Because truth is, we choose our friends based off of these criteria.  If we don’t smoke, any smoker “friends” we may have are probably better titled “acquaintances”.  We bond with who we relate to.  To what degree this is true, I know not.  But I have been an inhabitant of this earth long enough to know that most of the time, it proves to be true.  One night I sat on my bed pondering all of this.  I thought about all the cliques in my high school and how alike those within each clique were.  They were all on the same sports teams, went everywhere together, loved the same movies, laughed at the same kind of humor.  I thought…and I thought. 

Then I thought, why am I so different?

My five closest friends, if you could even call them that close, were among those called “high school drop-outs,” “depressed,” “boring,” “awkward,” “anti-social”.  As far as I knew, not to be too presumptuous here but, according to my standards and the standards of my family and the standards of society, I was none of those things.  I’m in college, certainly not a high school drop-out.  I’m too in love with life to be boring, depressed, or anti-social.  And I can only hope that I’m not awkward, but I could be wrong ☺.

All that said, if I am nothing like my five closest friends, different from my family (that’s even more complicated), and not the human concoction studies have made me out to be, then who am I?

Whose spitting image am I?

Second day of high school.

I walked through the maroon-colored cafeteria doors.  My heart stopped.  Not again, I thought.  Why do I have to go through this horrible process of finding an eating area where only embarrassment and silence seemed to emit from my soul?  Gosh.

I dragged myself over to the lunch line.  I was one of the few whites who bought lunch.  Social mistake number one. 

After I got my oh-too-sloppy joe, I headed over to the condiments table, stalled a bit.  A bit longer.  And longer, scoping out the tables to see a kind face, a nice gesture, an inviting hand.    No one.  Nothing.

You see, I was not like Yvette and Mildred in “The Wrong Lunch Line,” by Nicholasa Mohr.  I had no best friend.  No one to sit with.  Not a soul.

Then I saw them.  Perfect as could be, I thought.  Why not join them?  If I sit with the popular people, maybe I’ll become one of them. 

My heart raced as I made it over to the already over-crowded table.  There had to be at least 15 girls sitting at this single 6-foot diameter surface.  Social mistake number two.

I squeezed in with them, not really saying much and ignoring the sideways glances. 

Why do you hate me? I thought.  Just smile…maybe they’ll like that.

So I smiled.  And smiled.  And my upward grin turned into an awkward line as I listened to the silence.  Most of the girls had already finished eating.  Except for me, of course.  Social mistake number three.

Two girls waited up for me.  Nice enough, right?  Not really.  The next day was the same story, but no one waited for me.  I felt the embarrassment that Yvette felt when that teacher called her out in front of everyone.  I felt like I had done something out of my place.  Like I didn’t belong.  People were calling me out for it with their stares. 

That day I found a note the girls were passing around about me.  “Please don’t let me cry, thought Yvette” (Mohr, 55).  Please don’t let me cry, I thought.

It hurt.  Really bad.  When people write that you’re weird and you have no friends and that they don’t like you in high school, you believe it.  It tore my insides apart.  I could not function for the rest of that day.  I was like a zombie, one with too many tears to hold back.

I nearly jolted home. 

That’s when I got down.  On my knees, I mean.  In front of my window, right at the foot of my bed.

“God…”

Tears ran down my cheeks.  Tear after tear and soon I was bawling.  I couldn’t breathe.  Who was I?  Why was I?  What was I to do?

I looked up and saw the answers.  I listened and heard the answers.  I knocked and the door was opened for me.  Social mistake number four .

When you hear the word faith, what comes to mind? The term is notoriously hard to define.   All of my life I was told to believe in God.  But I never could understand how to have faith.  I saw it as blind action with no rhyme or reason.  Like pushing all your poker chips into one big pot, hoping that your cards are better than the other guy’s.

Faith requires taking chances and making hard decisions.  But it is not picking a course by saying eeny meeny miney mo.  Nor is it connecting to God in prayer, meditation, or reflection on a passage from the Bible. Those are the outward actions of someone who already has faith.

The state of mind that we call faith is hard to describe to one who does not have it. To develop this state of mind, you engage the two opposing forces that interact in you and pull you in opposite directions. Some people call them positive and negative, up and down, right and wrong.  One author called them “the performer” and “the critic.”  I would call them the spirit of God and the influence of Satan.  Whatever their names, they reside in you at every moment.  They motivate your thoughts, words, actions, and emotions. They force you to pick one direction or another.

The negative side places doubt to distract you and bring you down.  Impulses of selfishness, lust, greed and hate, if acted upon, will ultimately lead to death.  I know that this is true.  At times, I have allowed myself to listen to the negative side. I was always striving for more, never satisfied, always tearing myself down.  I called myself stupid when I didn’t get good grades.  I was never strong enough, fast enough, talented enough.

For whatever reason, I branded myself a failure. Thinking this way did not work. It never made me better, stronger, faster or smarter. Those feelings and thoughts still come.  The evil one brought me down and has power to bring me down at any moment if I choose to act on sinful and self-destructive impulses. When I dwell in the dark side of my heart, the darkness only grows.

The positive side works in a similar fashion. Faith starts as a tiny seed, a positive thought, a word, feeling or idea. If dwelt upon, it develops into other thoughts and eventually it becomes a dominant force. This is the state of mind that, over time, becomes the foundation of good character. The seed must be nurtured and allowed to grow.

The best explanation of faith that I have heard comes from an author named Napoleon Hill.  He wrote:

Faith is the eternal elixir that gives life power and action to the impulse of thought.

Faith is the starting point of all the accumulation of riches.

Faith is the basis of all miracles and mysteries that cannot be analyzed by the rules of science.

Faith is the only known antidote to failure.

Faith is the element, the chemical which, when mixed with prayer gives one direct communication with infinite intelligence.

Faith is the only agency through which the cosmic force of infinite intelligence can be harnessed and used.