My gods who died

By Patrick Schmadeke
Evangelization in the world today

Evangelization is enhanced by one’s comfort and familiarity with doubt. Yet, within Catholicism is a reflexive element that habitually suppresses doubt. It can be difficult to be comfortable with doubt. Yet, doubt “seasons” faith, brings it to greater depths, dimensions, clarities, simplicities.

Michelangelo said, “every stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.” What he said about stones may well be applicable to faith: doubt sculpts faith. My young children each have a faith, with room to grow. They have only begun to reconcile their image of God with the death of an elderly relative. They have not yet grappled with the weight of war, consumerism, the depersonalization of the digital age, the erosion of community by individualism and the systematic neglect of the marginalized. They do not yet know how culture will, and already has, objectified them. Life experiences will, and probably more than once, shatter who they understand God to be.

We all have three options when facing such moments. We can be dishonest, pretending that the facade of who we thought God to be is still intact. We can reject everything we once knew as sheer myth, a fairytale for children and those of weak constitution and leave faith behind. Or, we can accept that the understanding of God we once held dear is incomplete, wrongheaded, a shadow of the real thing, and patiently wait for what emerges.

I hope my children use Jesus as a model for how to face this trilemma: accept, die and rise. It is a crucible. Part of oneself dies in such moments, but so does a god. What rises is a more authentic self, and an image of God closer to who God really is. Many gods have died in my life through such crucibles. I’ve even given some of them names. Here are a few of them from my pantheon:

Rometheos (Ρομηθεος: Rome-God) was among the oldest of the gods and among the first to die. In his influence in my life, Rometheos preferred Roman Catholics, thinking that non-Catholic Christians were good but misguided. He was as stubborn and strong as he was insecure. Then I met my future, Lutheran-raised wife. Rometheos’ death was slow and painful, caught between a years-long deepening love for another person and a mind curious about history. Rometheos fought back; only in hindsight did I realize the fighting had stopped. Following his death, a wider vision of God who works in and through all people rose.

Amomobiblos (Αμομοβιβλος: book without blemish) was a younger god. His power was new, raw and unrefined. I did not have significant attachments to the Bible in my youth, but in my early adult life it provided stability. That stability, however, was overstated. Amomobiblos told me he gave the Bible to humanity fully intact. Questions of history and manuscript evidence wounded and ultimately led to the death of Amomobiblos. His death was easier to reconcile and gave rise to an appreciation for the faith communities from which the scriptural texts emerged. The Gospel of Matthew arose from one faith community, the book of Isaiah from another. Every scriptural text came from a place and time. God was at work in them, so God too must be at work in us. This inspired my faith.

Selphos (Σελφος: selfie) was a vain god of self-import. His influence during times such as graduation or job searching led to polishing resumes and telling stories of the best version of myself. Selphos emboldened these efforts, but fed the ego in the process. Selphos has died many times: with marriage and with the birth of each child. What emerged is a life more focused on relationship with God and neighbor.

Askatatheos (Ασκαταθεος: suffering-prevention God) was the youngest and weakest of the gods. His life force was my teenage sense of immortality, making me think I wouldn’t suffer. His downfall was the observable scale of human suffering. With the death of Askatatheos came the enriched awareness that God is present in all things, not just pleasant things.

The death of each god became rich soil for what emerged. These gods still rise on occasion; some more than others (I haven’t seen Amomobiblos in years). Like Michelangelo’s stone, authentic faith emerges from doubt’s crucible. God can handle any question and, at least in my faith journey, facing the trilemma of doubt leads to new life. Evangelization should lead to such life.

(Patrick Schmadeke is director of evangelization for the Diocese of Davenport.)