From Graham Greene’s novel The Power and the Glory, set in Mexico during the Communist persecution of the Catholic Church in the twentieth century, there is a great line from an atheist, who fully embraces his “faith.” It’s interesting, in hindsight of my own experience: to not believe in God takes every bit as much faith in the end as does believing in God. However, the outcome of how you see the world is radically different.

The character is an angry man who is hunting down the “Whiskey Priest,” a drunk, corrupt, unheroic hero who needs to be snuffed out, because snuffing out the priest will kill off God for good. “Kill ‘em all” is not just the title track on a classic Metallica album, it has also been the classic blunder in attempting to stamp out Christians since Nero first blamed followers of Jesus Christ for the fire in Rome.

An unbeliever writhes at the stereotype of the faithful fool. He loathes the idiot who prays and believes in angels and demons. Why? Because he knows better. He knows that religion is all smoke and mirrors. It’s all b******t, and he knows it. He knows. He sees the wizard behind the curtain. These words could have come from my mouth or mind, even though I wasn’t physically hunting priests to kill them:

“It infuriated him to think that there were still people in the state who believed in a loving and merciful God. There are mystics who are said to have experienced God directly. He was a mystic, too, and what he had experienced was vacancy – a complete certainty in the existence of a dying, cooling world, of human beings who had evolved from animals for no purpose at all. He knew.”

Yes, he knew. I knew. But I know now, too. Don’t we all know? That is, after all, the point of the “tree of knowledge” in the garden. When we eat from that tree, we know, and we think we know better than God. We turn away from God. Genesis, what a timeless old thing it is! How on earth did the sacred writer know how to craft it so elusively and accurately throughout all the ages? Oh, right. I forgot: it’s because God inspired the sacred author of Genesis (and I’ll refer you to Dei Verbum for expansion on that idea, which is a worthy read for Catholics and anti-Catholics alike, and I would recommend followups of Faith and Reason (Fides et Ratio) and The Splendor of Truth (Veritatis Splendor). And if you’ve gone that far, you might as well read the Prologue and Part One of the Catechism).

What the atheist “knows” is not known any more than what the believer “knows,” but assumes a similar kind of faith. In other words, to quote The Big Lebowski, you can say to either one, “That’s just, like, your opinion, man.” But of course, one is right and one is wrong, but neither can ever prove it. After adopting the ideas of unbelief for about fifteen years, I realized that I do not have enough faith to be an atheist, particularly after witnessing addiction recovery miracles and seeing, literally, the power of prayer in real people’s lives, including my own.

The unbeliever’s belief requires a kind of assent that is not at all different from the person of faith (and I’ll refer you to John Henry Neumann and G.K. Chesterton for expansions on the idea of assent). We are assenting to a faith, like it or not, whichever way we lean, and the reason endless debates rage over the existence of God is because both sides “know” they are right and have ample arguments to defend their view. Yet only one can be right. Only one will be proven correct, and the test date is usually unscheduled, kind of a pop quiz, that happens with the final beat emitted from of our hearts. This makes for a lot of anger between the tribes of believers and unbelievers, because both “know” they are right.

However, the unbelievers should never be mocked, because that is their job: to mock us believers. They get to keep that for themselves. They don’t have much else to hold onto, so mockery and condescension remains theirs. To be mocked for having faith in God should not bother any person of faith. Seriously, faith is a gift. If you’ve been to a party where everyone received a gift except for you, the feeling results in sadness or anger, but the wound of being left out leads to envy. Sour grapes, insults on intelligence, accusations of inbreeding, and variations on the phrase “I don’t need a crutch” are just some of the results of envy. The error of envy plays out in toddlers and adults in interesting ways. You’ll notice that Jesus never exhibits any behaviors related to envy. Believers, as always, should imitate him and pray for strength daily. All adversity should be received as exercises in humility and for every insult for faith we should give thanks to God for the opportunity to be tested and grow in faith.

The meaning of life is wrapped up faith in God. It fills the Big Empty. Those without faith cannot grasp this. It’s impossible. If I try to explain that I believe in miracles to an atheist, the wall around them is built up so tall that they cannot even hear a word I’m saying. I had the same wall. The atheist will often say, “I just need more evidence,” meaning a sign, like the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus, but even if Jesus flew around in the sky in front of them, they would start explaining the physics and asking for a video to review if he was wearing a jetpack. In fact, I had this very conversation about miracles recently with an atheist, and we spoke about the “calming the storm” miracle, and his answer was that science can do that, it can control the weather now. But I have yet to see a meteorologist reach out his hand and stop the wind and waves instantly. I didn’t bother to ask, “What about the walking on water?” but surely he would have had a material cause, like a reef beneath Jesus’ feet, or a first century paddleboard. My point is that you must take a leap of faith on miracles in order to believe. The alternative is to find material reasons for divine things, or deny the stories altogether. Many modern people have done all the way in trying to solve the problem, denying that Jesus ever existed. The problem with that is, like the ostrich, God still exists even while the head is underground. The walling-in of our wonder is what keeps us from opening up, from filling the God-shaped hole in our hearts.

(This is where I start praising Protestants and Evangelicals if any are still here...)

Many believers of non-Catholic faith are enriched and filled with the Holy Spirit, and many understand the faith part better than Catholics. I’m talking about Evangelicals and Protestants. (Here is where I even praise “faith alone” a little bit…) The great thing about “faith alone” is that people meet Jesus this way, without having to assent to the whole Catechism of the Catholic Church and go through an RCIA class for six months. Luther lowered the barrier of entry, and Jesus certainly criticized the Pharisees for keeping the kingdom of God from the people. Catholics can trend toward Pharisaism, and this is a well-known charge against the Church. Rules and regulations are needed, and must be adhered to, otherwise the whole thing falls apart. After all, Jesus said he didn’t come to throw out the law but to fulfill it, and he also said that we must do more than just pray and say “Lord, Lord!” There are things that must be done. There are works like “Be baptized and believe” and “If you love me, keep my commandments” and “Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. Freely you have received; freely give.”

While I don’t believe that ease of entry into salvation is true with sola fide, that idea certainly gets people through the door. The ball gets rolling very quickly when someone is ready to change. So if someone is drawn to Jesus through a concert-style service or an altar call, there are far worse things I can think of people doing. I just don’t think that it’s the fullness of the faith. I believe that there is more to it, and that the Tradition that goes back to Peter is the Church, the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church that is guided by the Holy Spirit.

The simple invite of “Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior?” has always seemed too easy to me, but I have seen it change lives in dramatic and stunning ways when someone takes it to heart, when it is not coerced or faked. I know Evangelicals and Lutherans who are on fire for God, and even though they say “works” are not necessary, these on-fire believers are engaged in mucho works, body and soul, helping people pray and get along in this world. And that is a beautiful thing.

But the problem is that it leads to the Pink Cloud too often. What is the pink cloud? Addicts who get sober can experience a Pink Cloud after about thirty days of sobriety, and everything is wonderful. Life is amazing. Love is everywhere. And then the euphoria wears off. Many relapse because this new high of sobriety has dulled. The new feeling of being reborn in sobriety fades as real life plods along with the march of days. Thus are newly sober people warned, “Beware of the Pink Cloud.”

In a similar way, the euphoria of an altar call or instant conversion lacks long-term staying power, because it’s too easy. Having attended a few services in my life where sinners feel moved to come up to the altar, I watched with skepticism as it felt too dramatic. Perhaps too emotional, as feelings do not always last. This is why watching Marcus Grodi’s “Journey Home” conversion stories is so compelling. These are five year or ten year or twenty year conversion stories. There is meat and potatoes in these stories, of life, learning, hard knocks, and revelations.

Recently, a celebrity, Shia Leboeuf, did an interview on his conversion and said that “It didn’t feel like they were trying to sell me a car.”

He nailed it. He nailed the problem of cheap and easy evangelization. It’s too glossy, too polished, too impersonal, too much sugar. Let me give some examples of this problem of feeling “sold” instead of assenting to Church teaching through a process of both reason and faith, as Chesterton and St. Augustine did.

I can recall several attempts by people to evangelize me to Christianity while I was fallen away that repulsed me and pushed me further away from God than if they had scourged me with a whip. It was the sell. The approach. I think of these often now that I’ve returned to believe in Jesus, because they make me realize how obnoxious it is to sell religion to someone like it was soap or a gadget.

Example #1: I was on a beach during spring break, drinking heavily, just like any good useless college student raised on Nirvana and Sublime, when a few attractive college girls approached. They wanted to hang out, but then within a short time, they asked if I had accepted Jesus as my personal savior. I said, “No,” and returned to the comfort of liquor.

Example #2: I had paid $50 to do an “ejector seat” ride where bungee cords shoot you up into the air for three seconds of bliss, and right before we were about to eject, the operator said, “I can only hit this button if you’ve accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior.” And rather than say, “No, let me off,” I said “Yes,” because I had paid $50 and didn’t want to get off the ride. But it irritated me and ruined the experience because at that time I was still happy on the side of the devil.

Example #3: I recall retreat groups coming to church as a kid, with super motivated adults and teens who wanted to stir up the spirit in us. But I didn’t get it. I also didn’t get it when some kids would apparently feel the spirit and start crying and want to give their life to Christ. The retreats just kind of hit me like pie in the face. I just wasn’t ready to eat. The thing was, the people were trying hard and probably did convert some people, but I just couldn’t buy in.

Example #4: I attended an “all-night party” as a kid thinking it would just be bowling and basketball and movies, but then it turned out to be a Christian rock concert and an altar call where the singer needed, “Just ten more of you to come up to the stage and give your lives to Christ.” All the hand-waving and teary eyes didn’t phase me, as I eyed the pizza from the open side doors.

Example #5: I remember Jehovah’s Witnesses knocking on the door and running an elevator pitch at me while I was hungover and watching football. It reminded me of when I had to sell candy bars for the local booster club as a kid, and I hated it then, and I knew the candy bar buyers hated forking over a dollar for sub-par milk chocolate. Likewise, I cringed watching these people try to sell religion to me when I was not yet in the market. I also knew just enough about Jehovah’s Witness theology to realize that it would be betraying my reason altogether to engage with them, so I said goodbye.

Now, with all that said, I can tell you this: every single one of those people who tried to convert me had a lot better grip on life than I did, since drinking was my escape, my idol. Drinking and goals was the game, I thought, and despite having a decent sense of Biblical stories, I had zero idea why anyone was pushing these old tales my way. All I saw was a bunch of rules. I felt like Cool Hand Luke, when he said, “I ain't heard that much worth listenin' to. There's a lot of guys layin' down a lot of rules and regulations.” I’m pretty sure I actually wanted to be Cool Hand Luke, come to think of it.

At the start of this series I talked about selling, because that is what people do with their worldviews. What’s so strange about the Catholic Church is that it does not feel like a sale, because much of what they teach runs against our desires and instincts. What an awkward pitch it is. It’s almost an anti-sales pitch, which is why we have to wrestle with it for so long. Just as Jesus confounded us and refuted our expectations, so does the Church.

But for those of us who end up buying Catholicism, it’s eventually purchased because it works. It is proven to work. People arrive at this place because nothing else has worked. Peter famously said to Jesus, “Master, where else will we go?” The Catholic Church is the last stop after all other sources of “truth” have been tried and found untrue. This has been the conclusion of people in every generation for 2,000 years.

We may not like the pitch or the demonstration, but the application of it works. It offers sanity in a world of half-truths. It requires elevating faith ever so slightly over reason, but just barely. The beauty of Catholicism is that you get to keep your reason - all of it - and add on the mysteries of faith to it. It enriches reason because it tears down the wall of needing material answers for everything. It throws out religious fundamentalism while keeping the laws of physics, the Commandments, miracles, and the richest trove of literature and stunning architecture the world has ever known.

Also, it’s not forced upon anyone. It doesn’t feel like trickery. How could it? The pitch takes away things that we perceive to be pleasure, so the gloss is off the flyer. The pitch is not easy, not a quick solvent or pill to swallow, but more of a tough love. It’s like a stern but loving family that sits you down to say: “This will be difficult, but you can be holy. First, grow up and take responsibility, and second, be humble and return to the faith of a child. Now start praying and serving others.”

What bothers me about saying “I accept Jesus as my personal savior” and being done with progressing to salvation is this: if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

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