I’ll think of somebody who does not believe in God.
“How are you?” I’ll ask him. (Somehow I imagine a man. I meet far fewer women who do not believe in God.)
“Fine,” he’ll say.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” I’ll say. “You seem like an intelligent, caring, decent person. It is difficult for me to grasp how you live your life without knowing God is watching you.”
He smiles at me. “Same to you. How can you even know he’s watching? I mean know, not just vaguely sense.”
“If God could be taken for granted, so that we could all be certain of him, there’d be no more sense in believing—”
He interrupts me. “Obviously. But ‘believing’ leaves me with a choice. I took the other option. God didn’t seem to want to present himself too obviously to me.”
“Did you try to listen?”
“Very much so. I just didn’t hear a thing.”
We fall into a silence.
Read the entire piece here: “Interrogation”
So once more, sitting in a field and letting the sun shine on me, I ask myself: “Why do I believe in God, Wim?”
“He called me by my name.”
He did. That’s all I can say in the end.
I am thankful for that every day.
Grace.
Most amazing experience of my life.
For the skeptic no proof is enough, for the believer none is necessary.