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The Christian Atheist

Believing in God but Living as if He Doesn’t Exist


By: Craig Groeschel

The Christian Atheist, by recovering


Christian Atheist Craig Groeschel, is an
honest, hard-hitting and eye-opening look
into the ways people believe in God but
live as if he doesn’t exist. From his own
lapses in faith as a young man to the
painful self-admission he had to make as
an established pastor, Groeschel’s own
journey will immerse you and challenge
you into a deeper, Christ-filled life.

Learn More | Zondervan on Scribd | Zondervan.com


The thing I’ve always appreciated about Craig is his willingness
to be honest when his life doesn’t match up with the Scriptures.
Too many ­people are quick to make excuses for themselves and
others who call themselves “Chris­tian.” Craig challenges us to
think deeply, honestly, and fearfully about how our lives may be
contradicting our message.
 — ​Francis Chan, pastor and author, Crazy Love
In The Chris­tian Atheist, Craig leverages transparency to force
the rest of us to take an honest look at the contrast between
how we live and what we claim to believe. Craig’s vulnerability,
­coupled with his fresh insights, will move you to begin
realigning behavior with beliefs.
 — ​Andy Stanley, senior pastor, North Pointe
Community Church

Craig Groeschel is a brilliant communicator and a gift to the


church worldwide. He has a way of saying the things we are
all thinking with an approachable authority that resonates
with the ups and downs of our daily walk with God. Craig’s
genuine heart to see your life’s journey flourish, and his honest
perspective on personal experiences, will quietly convict your
heart and encourage your soul.
 — ​Brian Houston, senior pastor, Hillsong Church
Church ­people always talk about Chris­tians and non-Christians,
but nobody ever talks about the ­people in-between. Most of the
men and women I talk to every day fall into that middle ground,
the group that believes in God but lives like he’s not there,
doesn’t care, or doesn’t matter. In The Chris­tian Atheist, Pastor

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Craig Groeschel hits this audience head-on, opening up about
his own doubts and fears, while setting the table for hundreds
of life-changing discussions about who God is and how he
operates.
 — ​Dave Ramsey
There are too many Christian Atheists in the church today, and
through this book, Craig Groeschel challenges the genuineness
of faith in the life of the self-proclaimed believer. The Christian
Atheist will cause you to move from head knowledge to heart
knowledge. This is a must-read for every Christian.
 — Jentezen Franklin, senior pastor, Free Chapel,
New York Times bestselling author of Fasting

Craig’s insights and candor combine to make this book a true


gift to “atheists” of all kinds!
 — ​Bill Hybels, senior pastor, Willow Creek
Community Church, and chairman of the board,
Willow Creek Association

The Chris­tian Atheist will challenge you, push you, and


disturb you. It will redefine your sense of purpose and focus
as a Christian. Every Chris­tian today needs to read this book.
Craig’s gut-level honesty is refreshing and will help move you
toward a life that is fully devoted to Christ. Too many of us live
lives that don’t truly reflect who we are as followers of Christ.
But the good news is we can change. True Chris­tian­ity awaits
us. And Craig provides a practical prescription for how to get
there.
 — ​Brad Lomenick, president, Catalyst

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Other Books by Craig Groeschel
It: How Churches and Leaders Can Get It and Keep It
Chazown: A Different Way to See Your Life
Going All the Way: Preparing for a Marriage
That Goes the Distance
Confessions of a Pastor: Adventures in Dropping the Pose

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Believing in God but Living As If He Doesn’t Exist

theChris t ianatheist

Craig
Groeschel

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ZONDERVAN

The Christian Atheist


Copyright © 2010 by Craig Groeschel

This title is also available as a Zondervan ebook. Visit www.zondervan.com/ebooks.

This title is also available in a Zondervan audio edition. Visit www.zondervan.fm.

Requests for information should be addressed to:


Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Groeschel, Craig.
The Christian atheist : believing in God but living as if he doesn’t exist /
Craig Groeschel.
p.  cm.
ISBN  978-0-310-32789-9 (hardcover, jacketed)
1. Christian life. I. Title.
BV4501.3.G755  2010
248.2'5 — dc22 2010000140

All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New
International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permis-
sion of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide.

Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation,
copyright © 1996, 2004. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton,
Illinois. All rights reserved.

Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers printed in this book
are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement
by Zondervan, nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for
the life of this book.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — ​electronic, mechanical, photocopy,
recording, or any other — ​except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior
permission of the publisher.

Published in association with Winters, King and Associates, Inc.

Cover design: Design Works Group / Tim Green


Interior design: Beth Shagene

Printed in the United States of America

10  11  12  13  14  15  16  •  24  23  22  21  20  19  18  17  16  15  14  13  12  11  10  9  8  7  6  5  4  3  2  1

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They claim to know God,
but by their actions they deny him.
They are detestable, disobedient
and unfit for doing anything good.
 — ​Titus 1:16

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Contents

A Letter to the Reader


11

Introduction

A Recovering Christian Atheist


17

Chapter 1

When You Believe in God but Don’t Really Know Him


29

Chapter 2

When You Believe in God but Are Ashamed of Your Past


45

Chapter 3

When You Believe in God but Aren’t Sure He Loves You


57

Chapter 4

When You Believe in God but Not in Prayer


73

Chapter 5

When You Believe in God but Don’t Think He’s Fair


91

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Chapter 6

When You Believe in God but Won’t Forgive


111

Chapter 7

When You Believe in God but Don’t Think You Can Change
123

Chapter 8

When You Believe in God but Still Worry All the Time
143

Chapter 9

When You Believe in God but Pursue Happiness at Any Cost


161

Chapter 10

When You Believe in God but Trust More in Money


175

Chapter 11

When You Believe in God but Don’t Share Your Faith


193

Chapter 12

When You Believe in God but Not in His Church


215

Afterword

Third Line Faith


233

Acknowledgments
241

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A Letter
to the Reader

Sitting next to total strangers on airplanes provides


limitless entertainment and surprises — ​especially if you’re a
pastor, like I am.
Before some unsuspecting traveler finds out what I do for a
living, our exchanges are usually effortless and fun. But as soon
as they uncover my profession, the conversation takes a turn.
Sometimes our discussion becomes more meaningful, drawing
on a common spiritual bond. Other times it grows heated, as
the person unloads their doubts, confusion, or spiritual hurts.
Sometimes plugged-in headphones and closed eyes leave no
doubt that the talk is over.
On a recent trip, I had two flights before reaching my
destination. On my first flight, I sat next to Travis, a middle-
aged, married father of two, who was headed home from an
unsuccessful business trip. On my next flight, I sat next to
Michelle, an exceptionally witty and bright twenty-three-year-

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the Chris tian atheis t

old grad student starting her summer break. Both were tired.
Both were anxious to get home.
And both were atheists — ​though very different kinds.
Travis was the conventional sort. Like most atheists, he
denied the existence of God altogether. He didn’t pray, didn’t
read the Bible, didn’t attend church. The only thing he liked
about Christian­ity was poking fun at television preachers. He
made himself laugh out loud as he affected a thick, syrupy
accent: “I don’t believe in GAW-duh!”
During the first part of our flight, we discussed Travis’s
struggling commercial real estate business. Two years ago
he was on top of the world, routinely cutting deals in several
markets. Now he couldn’t negotiate prices at a yard sale. The
weakened economy and a smaller income had forced him to
make significant lifestyle changes, but Travis expressed quiet
hope that things would return to normal soon.
After openly sharing some of his professional challenges,
Travis asked me what kind of business I was in. Sticking
with business language, I explained that I’m in the spiritual
business — ​the pastor of a church.
That’s when Travis pounced: “So you’re a minister?” Doing
his best to remain cordial, he asked in an obviously sarcastic
tone, “I guess that means you believe in a literal seven-day
creation, huh?” Before I could even respond, he began blurting
out his rapid anti-Christian barrage. “No disrespect meant, but
Christians are the weakest p ­ eople alive. They use Christian­
ity as a crutch to avoid the real world. And the more vocal they
are about their religion, the more hypocritical they are.” After

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A Let ter to the Re ader

several minutes of uninterrupted ranting, Travis snapped out


of his tirade. Almost as if to offer a truce, he said, “Well, if there
is an eternity, I’m sure you’ll be in good shape since you’re a
pastor, and I’m guessing I’ll come out as good as most p ­ eople.”
The rest of our conversation was pleasant. He didn’t change
my views about God, and I didn’t change his. We both hoped
the economy would improve soon and parted with a friendly
farewell.
Michelle, the young grad student I sat next to on my second
flight, is an entirely different kind of atheist — ​a Christian
Atheist.
Christian Atheists are everywhere. They attend
Catholic churches, Baptist churches, Pentecostal churches,
nondenominational churches, and even churches where the
pastor says, “GAW-duh!” when he’s preaching. They attend big
seminaries, Big Ten universities, and every college in between.
They are every age and race and occupation — ​and some even
read their Bibles every day.
Christian Atheists look a lot like Christians, but they live a
lot like Travis.
Before our plane took off, Michelle struck up a
conversation. Somewhat nervous about flying, she seemed eager
to talk, as if our chat might make the flight pass more quickly.
After describing her difficulties with balancing her checkbook
and handling her divorced parents and her live-in boyfriend — ​
who’s scared to death of marriage — ​she asked me about my life.
Creating a diversion from my “I’m a pastor” answer, I

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explained that I am married and have six children. “Six kids?!


Don’t you know what causes kids?” she joked.
After some more small talk, Michelle asked me what I do
for a living. No longer able to dodge the inevitable, I answered,
“Well, as a matter of fact, I’m the pastor of a church.”
This revelation gave Michelle permission to unleash a
stream of Christian words and stories. Dropping the occasional
“God told me” and “God is good,” she smiled softly as she
described how she “gave her life to ­Jesus” at the age of fifteen at
a Christian youth camp. After praying sincerely, she was eager
to get back to school to share her faith and live a life of purity
and spiritual integrity. Michelle held on to her new belief in
God but soon slipped back into her old way of life.
As if in a confessional, Michelle continued pouring out
her life’s darker details. She looked down as she admitted that
she was doing things with her live-in boyfriend that she knew
she shouldn’t. She told me she wanted to go to church but was
simply too busy working and studying. She did pray many
nights — ​mostly that her boyfriend would become a Christian
like she was. “If only he believed in ­Jesus, then he might want to
marry me,” she said, wiping her tears.
At last, Michelle expressed one final confession: “I know
my life doesn’t look like a Christian’s life should look, but I do
believe in God.”
Welcome to Christian Atheism, where ­people believe
in God but live as if he doesn’t exist. As much as I don’t
want to admit it, I see this kind of atheism in myself. ­People
might assume that a pastor wouldn’t struggle with any form

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A Let ter to the Re ader

of atheism, but I certainly do. Sadly, Christian Atheism is


everywhere. There has to be a better way to live.
This book is for anyone courageous enough to admit to
their hypocrisy. I hope it pushes you, challenges you, and
disturbs you. And if you’re honest before God — ​as I am trying
to be — ​perhaps together we can shed some of our hypocrisy
and live a life that truly brings glory to Christ.

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Introduc tion

A Recovering
Christian Atheist

Hi, my name is Craig Groeschel, and I’m a Christian


Atheist.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve believed in God, but I
haven’t always lived like he exists. Today my Christian Atheism
isn’t as large of a problem as it once was, but I still struggle with
it. Like a recovering alcoholic careful never to take sobriety for
granted, I have to take life one day at a time.
You might think it’s odd for a pastor to struggle with living
like there is no God. However, in my corner of the world,
­Christian Atheism is a fast-spreading spiritual pandemic
which can poison, sicken, and even kill eternally. Yet Christian
Atheism is extremely difficult to recognize — ​especially by
those who are infected.
My story illustrates the symptoms. I was born into a
­“Christian” family. We believed in God and attended church
when convenient — ​and always on Christmas or Easter. And

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when we did attend, it was always boring. Some older man


wearing what looked like a dress would stand at the pulpit for
what seemed like forever, talking about stuff that didn’t make
any sense to me. I remember counting how many times the
preacher raised one hand in the air — ​fifty-three in one sermon
may still be the world record.
Even though I never carried a Bible to church, we did
own a yellowish-gold Bible that was the size of a small U-haul
truck and sat prominently on our living room coffee table. The
pictures gave me warm, tingly, spiritual feelings, but the words
were an impenetrable web of thees and thous.
Two of my friends’ parents always made us pray before
meals: “God is great. God is good. Let us thank him for this
food.” It always bothered me that this prayer didn’t rhyme, even
though it seemed like it should, and wondered if it bothered
God too. At my grandparent’s house, we prayed, “Come, Lord
­Jesus, be our guest, and let this food to us be blessed.”
Neither prayer mattered to me, but at least the second one
actually rhymed.

Hell No
When I was eight, I attended a backyard vacation Bible school.
I was a little nervous, but the games, prizes, stories, and
unlimited animal crackers with grape-flavored Kool-Aid won
me over. The kids seemed normal enough, except for Alex, who
wet his pants twice in one day. (Alex, if you’re reading this, you
owe me big time for leaving out your last name.)

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Turns out it was all a setup for the final day, when the
teachers brought the spiritual heat. Like Nolan Ryan’s ninety-
five-mile-an-hour fastball, they brushed me back from the plate.
“Close your eyes. Bow your heads,” said Grownup 1, her
tone deadly serious. “I don’t want anyone looking around.”
She paused dramatically. “If you were to die tonight, do you
know for certain that you’d spend eternity in heaven? If you’re
not sure, please raise your hand.”
Still buzzing from dozens of animal crackers, and certainly
not certain about my eternal destiny, I raised my right hand.
Suddenly Grownup 2 joined Grownup 1, and they picked
me up underneath both arms and carried me to the back of
the garage. One escape route was blocked by the garage itself,
another was blocked by a chain-link fence, and the grownups’
glares completed the triangle.
I was trapped and completely unprepared for what came
next.
“If you don’t know for sure where you’ll spend eternity, then
if you die, you’ll go to hell.”
Hell! Hell? At that moment, hell seemed like the safer
option. Looking back, I’m certain these caring adults had
nothing but pure intentions, but at the time they scared the
animal crackers out of me. Taking my cue from the Little
Rascals, I crouched down and darted between Grownup 2’s legs,
then sprinted faster than Forrest Gump all the way home. Still
terrified of that nasty devil and the sulfuric fire he had reserved
for kids like me, I barricaded myself in my closet and cried out
to God, “Please don’t send me to hell!”

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Unquestionably, I believed in God. I was certain there was


a heaven — ​although I didn’t want to go there anytime soon — ​
and a hell. I’d accidentally burned myself with matches before,
so any place filled with fire, smoke, and sulfur was a place I
never wanted to go. For years I prayed at night, “God, please
don’t send me to hell.” I’d repeat those words over and over,
until finally I could drift off into sleep.
In the morning, occasionally I’d awaken and realize that I’d
neglected to sign off to the Judge of my eternal destination — ​no
“amen,” no “over and out,” no “10-4, good buddy.” I’d left God
hanging. I didn’t know all ten commandments, but I was pretty
sure proper prayer protocol had to be one of them. Afraid that
I was a sinner in the hands of an angry God, I’d pray, “Amen.
Amen. Amen. Amen.” Sometimes I’d even multiply them:
“Amen times amen times amen times amen.”
By the time I entered middle school, I had about forty-seven
jillion amens stored up, along with a growing case of spiritual
fear and insecurity.

High School Hypocrisy


When I was sixteen, I decided one Sunday morning to go to
church by myself. (Okay, perhaps part of it was that I had just
gotten my driver’s license and gladly drove anywhere — ​but I
sincerely did feel drawn to church.) Pondering what it means
to be “right with God,” I strolled up the church stairs and sat in
the third pew.

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Cue another sermon that spoke right past me.


I headed out, disappointed. The pastor had strategically
positioned himself at the main exit, shaking ­people’s hands as
they left. Seizing my opportunity, I asked him if I could make
an appointment to talk to him about God.
That Wednesday after school, I found myself sitting in the
pastor’s study, which I quickly realized was also the scariest
place on earth. I wondered if he could hear my voice trembling
as I asked, “How do I know if I’ve been good enough to get to
heaven?”
Although I don’t recall everything the pastor said, I
remember advice about not being a hell-raiser, not chasing girls,
and not drinking beer — ​in other words, all bad news. All my
friends were beer-guzzling, girl-chasing hell-raisers, and while I
wasn’t their general, I was certainly a lieutenant with legitimate
promotion potential.
I left his office determined to stop sinning. It was time to
find religion and get myself right with God once and for all.
Armed with a new calling, I attacked my next week at school
with a spiritual fire for good living.
Then Friday night rolled around.
It wasn’t until years later that I discovered Paul’s words in
Romans 7. He said that the things he wanted to do, he didn’t
do. And the things he didn’t want to do, he did. His story was
my story. I wanted to live righ­teously, but I couldn’t seem to get
it right for more than five minutes. I believed in God, but I still
cheated in school, drank the cheapest beer available, lied about

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what I did with my girlfriends, and hoped to find the occasional


misplaced Playboy.
“God, please don’t send me to hell. Amen times amen.”

My First Great Awakening


When I was a junior in high school, my church youth group
voted me to be their president. Apparently the qualifications for
office had nothing to do with living like a Christian, and before
I knew it, my one-year term “earned” me a partial scholarship
to a Christian university. With athletics covering the rest of my
room and board, I embarked on what I hoped would become a
new, God-pleasing beginning.
I set off with a carload of clothes, Bic pens, my Cindy
Crawford poster, and lofty dreams. Instead of being surrounded
by young Billy Grahams and Mother Teresas, however, I was
bombarded by miniature Lindsay Lohans and Kanye Wests and
quickly pulled into the party scene.
Sin is fun — ​at least for a while. But it never fails to come
back to haunt you, usually when you least expect it. Like a
sneeze, sin feels good at first, but it leaves a huge mess. By my
sophomore year, several of my fraternity brothers got busted
for grand larceny, putting our whole fraternity at risk of being
kicked off campus. Around the same time, because of a major
hangover, I slept through tennis practice, which placed me
exactly one mistake away from losing my athletic scholarship.
And many ­people on campus despised me because of how I had
treated a few girls.

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Feeling lower and lower by the second, I decided to look up


toward God — ​again.
I decided to start a Bible study in our fraternity house. I sold
this unusual idea to my frat brothers by explaining that it would
be great PR to help our sullied reputation. Truthfully, I wanted
to learn about God. Since church hadn’t really helped me in
that department, I thought I might as well go straight to the
Bible to see what I could discover for myself.
On the Tuesday morning before our first Bible study, I was
strolling across campus between classes when it dawned on me
that I didn’t have a Bible. (I left the family’s gold Bible at home.)
On my way to my world literature class, an older gentleman
introduced himself to me, saying he was a Gideon. He asked me
if I wanted a free Bible. I wasn’t sure what a Gideon was, but as
far as I was concerned, he might as well have been one of God’s
angels.
That night, a handful of us started reading the Bible in a
small, sweat-soaked, party-stained room in the Lamba Chi
Alpha house. We started reading in Matthew, chapter one,
and once we moved past who begat whom, the pace picked
up. At the end of our rookie Bible studies, we prayed the only
prayers we knew: “God, protect us as we party. God, keep Joe’s
girlfriend from getting pregnant. God, don’t let us get caught
cheating on the American history test.” They weren’t the typical
prayers prayed at Baptist student unions, but they were honest.
We were a bunch of guys who believed in God but didn’t
have a clue who God really is.
Although we didn’t know what we were doing, our little

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Bible study started to grow. Apparently many of our party


friends bore a similar spiritual curiosity. The more Bible we
read and the more prayers we prayed, the more ­people showed
up and the more God seemed to do.
After finishing Matthew, we discovered that Mark, Luke,
and John had several of the same stories. Three chapters into
Acts, we got bored and skipped to Romans. Midway through
Romans, I got so excited that I started reading ahead. When I
reached Ephesians, I encountered two verses that would forever
change my life: “For it is by grace you have been saved, through
faith — ​and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God — ​not
by works, so that no one can boast.” Could this be true? We’re
saved by God’s grace and his grace alone? It’s not by our works?
Why didn’t anyone tell me?
I felt like a caged animal and had to escape that tiny room.
Someone was sitting in front of the only door, so I slipped
out the closest window and dropped to the ground. Sensing
something important, I dashed to a nearby softball field,
needing to be alone with God. What happened next is hard to
explain and even harder for me to believe. The presence of God
became real to me.
I always thought that only wackos actually hear from
God. Sure, you heard God. And there’s a teeny angel on your
shoulder right now telling you what to do next, right?
Well, that evening I became a wacko. Kneeling on the grass,
I heard a voice. It wasn’t audible — ​it was actually way too loud
to be audible, too present inside me. “Without me, you have

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nothing. With me, you have everything.” I knelt and prayed the
shortest, most power-packed, faith-filled prayer of my life.
Not so much whispering as mouthing the words, I said to
God, “Take my life.”
That was it. I had knelt down in the field as one person,
and I stood up as a completely different person. I had the
same body, the same voice, and the same mind, but I wasn’t
the same. I’d later learn that I’d become what the Bible calls
a “new creation” (2 Cor. 5:17). The old was gone; the new had
come. I had finally transformed from a Christian Atheist into a
Christian.
For the first time in my life, I believed in God and began to
live like he is real.

Mission Not Accomplished


Since I was a new person, I became aware of a new mission:
to spread the gospel into all the earth — ​starting with my
roommate. No one was immune from my infectious faith. Not
my fellow athletes, not my fraternity brothers, not my party
friends, not my professors. To say I became a fanatic would be
an understatement. I started collecting converts to Christian­ity
like Michael Phelps collects gold medals. The more that God
did, the more I began to understand that God was calling me to
give him my whole life in full-time, vocational ministry.
As if on cue, when I was twenty-three, God opened a door
for me to work at a historic downtown church. My dream-
come-true slowly turned into a spiritual nightmare. What

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started out as a good thing quickly became an obsession. My


ser­vice was never enough. And as my love for ministry burned
hotter, my passion for Christ cooled.
My mission had become a job. Instead of studying God’s
Word out of personal devotion, I studied only to preach. Instead
of preaching messages to bring glory to God, I preached to
bring ­people to church. I promised hurting ­people I would pray
for them, but I usually didn’t follow through.
At the age of twenty-five, I was a full-time pastor and a
part-time follower of Christ.

An Invitation
Does any of this resonate with your experience? Was there
a time in your life that you were closer to God than you are
today? If you’re like me, your spiritual drift didn’t happen
on purpose. Like a tiny leak in a tire, slowly but surely, your
spiritual passion quietly slipped away. Maybe it has just become
clear to you. Instead of a fully devoted follower of Christ, you’ve
unintentionally become a full-time mom or full-time student or
a full-time bank clerk — ​and a part-time follower of Christ.
Maybe like so many, you’re a member of a church, but you’re
secretly still ashamed of your past. Perhaps you’ve heard about
the love of God, but you’re still not convinced that God totally
loves you. Or though you’re convinced God exists, your prayer
life isn’t what you know it should be. Perhaps like many other
well-meaning Christians, you know what God wants you to do,
but you still do whatever you want. Or you genuinely want to

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trust God as your provider, but you find it so hard to actually


do. Possibly you believe in heaven and hell, but sharing your
faith with others is still foreign or simply way too intimidating
for you. Or you may believe in God but don’t see much need for
the church.
I’ll be honest with you about my struggles, and I hope you’ll
be honest as well. And together, with God’s help, perhaps we
can learn to know and walk with God more intimately.

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Chap ter 1

When You
Believe in God
but Don’t Really
Know Him

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“Craig, you ought to meet this girl. She’s weird like
you. I mean, she’s a God fanatic. She’s, like, way overboard for
God.”
“Weird like you” wasn’t in my top-ten qualities to look for in
a girl, but enough ­people were telling me about Amy that I had
to meet her. I was a senior in college and praying daily to meet
someone equally passionate about Christ. From all reports,
Amy was everything I had dreamed of and more.
Our relationship began with several phone calls before we
finally met in person. Someone told Amy I resembled Tom
Cruise. When she opened the door and saw me for the first
time, her expectant smile faltered. I guess I don’t look exactly
like Maverick from Top Gun. (But I do have dark hair and a big
nose.)
That night we attended a Bible study that Amy led for high-

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school girls. She was amazing, and all of the love cliches I had
heard about over the years happened to me. When she prayed
for “her girls,” heaven seemed to open. When she sang songs of
worship, time stood still. Every time she looked in my direction,
I simultaneously praised God and melted. She was funny, loyal,
and sincere. Not to mention, on a scale of one to ten, she was a
498 million. (Still is.) I remember thinking, God, you are good.
Nice work.
Overflowing with anticipation, I was constantly trying
to make a good impression, to present my best Craig. I wore
my newest shirts, put on extra cologne, cleaned out my car,
and created the perfect mix tape (packed with the latest
combination of Christian music and 1980s love songs). But
more than that, I tried to make sure I was spiritually on my best
game, praying constantly to treat her with honor and purity.
Six months after I first met Amy, I proposed to her at
church in front of all our loved ones. (Thankfully she said yes;
otherwise, it would have been awkward.) Five months later we
got married.
That was nineteen years ago, and our marriage is now
officially old enough to move out and go to college. During all
those years, I’ve come to know Amy better than I know any
other person in the world. If there are forty women in a room
all talking at once, I can pick out her voice. If I walk into a
crowded lobby, with ­people all crushed together, my eyes find
hers instantly. I know her scent, and a single whiff of it will
make me think about her for the rest of the day. I know her

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favorite color, her favorite song, her favorite meal, which of my


shirts she likes best.
Despite how completely we know each other — ​even after
nearly two decades — ​our intimacy continues to grow. We’re
constantly learning how to connect and communicate deeply. I
can practically read her mind. A situation will arise when she’s
not there, and I know exactly what Amy would do. I know her
values. I know how she processes decisions.
The two of us share a history — ​stories, experiences, and
lots of kids. We love each other. We believe in each other.
In short, we know each other.

Believing versus Knowing


A recent Gallup poll reported that 94 percent of Americans
claim to believe in God or a universal spirit. However, a quick
glance at Scripture and our culture makes it plainly obvious
that nowhere near 94 percent actually know God. I mean,
really know him — ​intimately. Belief isn’t the same as personal
knowledge. For many ­people, the very idea that you could
know God on a relational level seems unlikely, unrealistic,
unattainable.
Part of the confusion stems from failure to recognize the
different levels of intimacy when it comes to knowing God.
Some of us know God by reputation, as when we hear about
a certain girl or guy from a close friend. We may know a bit
about God — ​perhaps we’ve been to church a few times, we’ve

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heard some Bible stories, or we have a favorite Bible verse on a


refrigerator magnet. But it’s only secondhand.
Some of us know God in our memories. We’ve truly
experienced his goodness, grace, and love in the past. Like
when I recently bumped into an old college buddy. Twenty
years ago, we were inseparable. We took classes together, played
sports together, and met Christ together. After we graduated,
we lost touch. I knew him years ago, but I can’t say that I know
him now.
And some of us know God intimately. Right here, right now.
This is the kind of loving knowledge that God promises
when we seek him (see Deut. 4:29; Jer. 29:13; Matt. 7:7 – 8;
Acts 17:27). When we are thirsty for God, God will satisfy that
longing. And as we continue to seek God, we’ll grow to know
him more and more intimately. When we hear God’s voice,
we’ll recognize it instantly. We’ll talk to God all the time and
miss him when circumstances distract us from his presence.
We’ll build a history together, storing up story after story of
shared experiences.
We’ll love God. We’ll trust God.
We’ll know God.

Not Knowing God


Maybe you’re thinking, I believe in God. Isn’t that enough? I
mean, a lot of p
­ eople don’t believe in God, but I do. Isn’t that
what he wants from me? Those are fair questions. But believing
in God isn’t all he wants from us. The book of James says that

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even the demons believe in God, and yet they tremble because
they know that they’re relationally separated from him (James
2:19). Obviously, there is more to the whole Christian thing
than just believing in God.
Growing up, my family was what I’d call “cultural
Christians.” We’d go to church on Christmas and Easter. We’d
help a neighbor in need. We’d donate canned goods to food
drives. We’d pray at Thanksgiving meals. But that was basically
the extent of it. Even though I believed in God, all I knew was
about him — ​and very little of that. I didn’t know him. And
because I didn’t know him the way best friends or spouses
know each other, I lived according to my own rules.
My very actions revealed my lack of intimate knowledge of
God. According to 1 John 2:3 – 4, “We know that we have come
to know him if we obey his commands. The man who says, ‘I
know him,’ but does not do what he commands is a liar, and
the truth is not in him.” A little harsh? I prefer to think of it as
straightforward and honest. Truthfully spoken by someone who
truly cares and wants what’s best for us.
We need to keep in mind that God’s commands are loving.
What God asks his children to do — ​like pursue justice, love
mercy, live humbly (see Mic. 6:8) — ​is what we want to do
anyway, at least in our best moments. We are created to be
living examples of God’s love to a hurting world.
God cares about how we live. And a relationship with God
naturally will flow out in daily attitudes and actions. So if you
look good, you are good, right? Well, maybe not. Knowing God
can lead to a positive lifestyle, but the reverse isn’t true. Our

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outward actions alone don’t prove that we enjoy an inward


relationship with God. Just because we do good doesn’t mean
we know the One who is good. Like when I first met Amy, I
didn’t know her at first, but I was trying to get to know her. If I
didn’t make any effort, we’d never really know each other. We
need to make an effort to get to know God.
God is interested not only in our actions but also in our
hearts — ​in particular, our attitude toward him. Do our good
works overflow from knowing him? Or do we live as though
God is simply watching and checking our accomplishments off
some heavenly to-do list? Did you get a star for going to church?
Being nice? Giving money to charity? Some of us try to earn
God’s acceptance without truly knowing his heart. And after
life is over, J­ esus will say to such individuals, “You wanted no
part of a relationship with me. Go away.” (See Matt. 7:21 – 23.)
Countless well-intentioned ­people believe in God but
don’t know him personally. Many of us look the part. Or we
think we’re Christians because, you know, it’s not like we’re
Buddhists.
We believe in God, but our lives don’t reflect who he really is.

Not Knowing God Well


Have you ever heard of George Brett, the legendary third
baseman who played for the Kansas City Royals? When I was a
kid, I collected every George Brett baseball card ever made and
knew everything about his career.
In 1988, I played in the NAIA National Tennis

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Championship in Kansas City. On a walk downtown, I saw


George Brett sitting at an outdoor cafe. I couldn’t stop myself — ​
I walked right up to him, extended my hand, and said, “I know
this happens to you all the time. I’m so sorry. I just had to tell
you, you’re the man! In 1980, you batted .390 — ​you almost
batted over .400 — ​which would have broken Ted Williams’
record from back in 1941. You had 118 RBIs in only 117 games.
You’re the man!” (A bit repetitive, I know, but I was nervous.)
Now, I didn’t actually know George Brett, but I knew
information about him. And I had heard that he was cocky and
rude. What I experienced, however, was quite the opposite.
“You know all that about me?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m just getting started.”
“That’s amazing. Why don’t you sit with us? Let’s talk for a
few minutes.” And he pulled up a chair.
After we had talked for about fifteen minutes, George
asked, “So, what brings you to Kansas City?” I told him that
I was playing in the big tennis tournament the next day. He
congratulated me and said, “You know what? You’ve watched
me all these years. I’ll try to come out and watch you play
tomorrow.”
The next day, I won the National Tennis title . . . with
George Brett cheering me on from the very front row. (Cue
dream scene fade-out and ethereal musical sounds.)
Okay, so that didn’t really happen, though it would have been
a great ending to this story. The reality is that George didn’t
show, and I lost in the second round and went home crushed.
Technically, I could say that I know George Brett because of

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our single encounter. But it’s obvious I don’t really know him. If
you were to remind him about our encounter in Kansas City, he
might not remember at all.
Now let’s rewind the history tape a ­couple thousand
years. When the apostle Paul wrote his letter to the Galatians
(­Jesus-followers who lived in the region of Galatia, modern-
day Turkey), they had experienced the real, living God but had
recently become trapped in legalism. They knew God, but not
well enough to avoid getting sucked back into a life based in
the law, rather than in love. In Galatians 4:8 – 9, Paul wrote,
“Formerly, when you did not know God, you were slaves to
those who by nature are not gods. But now that you know
God — ​or rather are known by God — ​how is it that you are
turning back to those weak and miserable principles? Do you
wish to be enslaved by them all over again?”
Paul essentially was saying, “You know God, but not well
enough to avoid your old habits — ​the attitudes that hurt you
and your closeness to God.” In the twenty-first century, we
would be wise to ask ourselves, “Is this us too?”
Maybe we “sort of” know God. Maybe sometime in the past
we’ve prayed and asked ­Jesus to transform our lives. Maybe we
have a basic understanding of God. Maybe, once, we genuinely
felt close to him. But we don’t know him well now.

Knowing God Intimately


Finally, there are those ­people who know God intimately and
serve him with their whole hearts. For me, I know this is

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happening when I’m becoming increasingly aware of God’s


presence within me, his provision, his power, and his peace.
I don’t feel like God’s “out there,” waiting for me to direct a
prayer his way every now and then. It’s more like an ongoing
conversation: “Hi, God. Hey listen, what do you think of this?”
Then I honestly believe God speaks to me through his written
Word and by his Spirit.
It’s like somehow my spirit is connected to him, and I
can hear what he’s saying. There’s kind of a buzz, a constant
conscious awareness that as my day unfolds, God is
orchestrating things and sending ­people into my life. That’s
doing life with God.
At other times, God may not feel as close. But by faith, I
know he is with me. No matter what I feel, I hold the assurance
that God never leaves me. And he won’t leave you.
The psalmist David describes in Psalm 63:1 – 4 his
relationship with God. In fact, he says that his experience of
knowing the personal God creates a deeper longing for even
more intimate knowledge of God. Verse 1 begins, “O God, you
are my God.” You’re not somebody else’s God, that I’ve just
heard about. You’re my God.
David continues, “Earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for
you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there
is no water.” In this world, there’s nothing that satisfies me. I’m
hungry, I eat, and then later I’ll be hungry again. Only God can
totally satisfy. I love you so much, God, that I ache for you. I
need more of you.
Have you ever felt that kind of love for someone? When

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you’re apart, you can’t wait to be with them again. When I’m
away from Amy, I can’t wait to hear her voice again. Imagine
that with God.
The psalmist continues, “I have seen you in the sanctuary
and beheld your power and your glory.” I’ve seen you. I know
you. I recognize you on sight. I know what you’re like. Your
unbounded might and majesty, the sunburst of your splendor,
your beauty — ​these are greater than anything I could ever
imagine or describe.
Verse 3 says, “Because your love is better than life, my
lips will glorify you.” Better than life? He’s saying, If I had the
choice — ​either keep God’s love and see my mortal body die,
or lose his love and live — ​I would choose to die.
Next verse: “I will praise you as long as I live, and in your
name I will lift up my hands.” I’ll never be the same. I’m so
transformed, so overwhelmed by you, I’m unashamed to do
anything to express myself to you. I can’t keep my hands at
my sides. I’m going to reach them out toward you. I’m going
to smile. I’m going to throw my head back and bask in your
magnificent glory.

It’s All in the Name


Most Bible historians agree that David also wrote Psalm
9:10, which says in reference to God, “Those who know your
name will trust in you.” What do you call God? The way you
address him or refer to him just might reveal the depth of your
intimacy. Or lack of it.

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Let me illustrate. What you call me clearly reveals how


well you know me — ​or whether you know me at all. My phone
rings. I answer. You’re on the other end, and you say, “Good
afternoon, Mr. Gress-shuhl. I’d like to talk to you about your
phone ser­vice.”
I can tell one thing right away: You don’t know me. You
don’t even know how to pronounce my name!
Or my wife and I are in a restaurant, and I give the hostess
my name while we’re waiting for a table. After a few minutes,
the hostess calls out, “Grow-SHELL, party of two!” The hostess
knows my name and how to pronounce it. But we’ve just met.
We don’t know each other.
If you call me “Pastor Craig,” chances are you might know
a little about me. You know what I do, maybe you’ve heard me
speak, and maybe you’re familiar with some of my favorite
topics and my up-front personality. But your use of my title
doesn’t mean that you know me personally.
You might just call me “Craig,” and I’d usually assume that
you know me even better. My friends call me Craig. We’re close.
But if you call me “Groesch,” that means we’ve been
friends for a long time. It means we’ve got stories. (And you’ve
promised not to tell them.) “Groesch” dates us back at least
twenty years.
Then there are those who possess exclusive rights to a few
specialized, far more intimate forms of address. These are the
six beautiful, small ­people, very dear to me, whom I allow to
climb up in my lap. They rub their hands on my face and say
things like “You need to shave” and “You’re the best” and “Can

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I have some candy?” They call me “Daddy.” They know me so


much better than even those who call me “Groesch.” The name
reveals the intimacy.
What do you call God? The Big Guy in the Sky? The Man
Upstairs? Dear eight-pound, six-ounce Baby ­Jesus? Then you
don’t know him. Those titles may be clever or funny, but they
certainly aren’t intimate.
If you know God, you are likely to be far more specific
with him, and the words you use will reflect your accurate
understanding of him. Maybe God graciously forgave you for
two decades of sins and you gratefully call him “Savior.” Perhaps
when you pray, you call God “Healer” because he’s healed your
broken heart. Maybe you call him “Comforter” because he has
come alongside and provided company in your misery. Maybe
you call him “Fortress” or “Rock” or “Strength.” Maybe you’ve
found yourself backed into a corner, with nowhere to turn,
creditors calling, and he’s “Provider” to you. If you’re a woman,
and the man in your life abandoned you, you might even call
him “Husband.” When you feel totally alone, perhaps you call
him “Friend.” Maybe your earthly father has never been there
for you, and to you God is “Father.”
What do you call God? Your answer may be a clue to how
well you know him. Or don’t.

The Best Is Ahead


It’s time to be honest with yourself and with God: Do you know
him? If so, how well?

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If you’ve acknowledged honestly that you don’t know God,


I can relate. For too long, I believed in God but didn’t know
him. Now I do. And knowing him consumes me. Knowing him
makes every moment count.
Has God transformed you? Are you different because of
him? If not, perhaps you’re a Christian Atheist. God loves you
and earnestly wants to reveal himself to you. Sadly, our sin
separates us from a holy God. In his mercy and grace, God
sent his Son, ­Jesus, to become the perfect sacrifice for the
forgiveness of our sins. ­Jesus, the sinless Son of God, became
sin for us on the cross. He is the “lamb of God” who died in our
place. Romans 10:13 says, “Everyone who calls on the name of
the Lord will be saved.” “Everyone” includes you and me.
If you don’t know him, you can. If you used to be close, you
can be close again. Getting to know God is not difficult, and
it isn’t about a bunch of rules. Yes, God wants your obedience,
but he wants your heart even more. He says over and over
again that if you seek him, you will find him (Deut. 4:29; Jer.
29:13; Matt. 7:7 – 8; Acts 17:27). You can find him by reading
your Bible; he’s been there all along. And when you begin to
seek him, you’ll find that he’s already running toward you,
his beloved child. Get to know him and allow his presence to
impact every area of your life, every day.
As you get to know him better, you will change. A vibrant
and intimate relationship with God will empower you to heal
from the hurts from your past, forgive what seems unforgivable,
and change what seems unchangeable about yourself. Walking
with God will break the power of materialism in your life

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and lead you to a radically generous life. Instead of living for


yourself and for the moment, you’ll live for Christ and for
eternity. Your heart will begin to break for the reasons and
causes that break God’s heart. You’ll serve him faithfully as part
of his bride, the church. Instead of living in torment from worry
and fear, you’ll learn to experience peace, grace, and trust.
As you get to know him, you’ll live boldly for him, excitedly
sharing your faith with others, less and less concerned about
what others think. Knowing him will make you ache to tell
others about him.
Get to know God. When you do, you will never be the
same.

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The Christian Atheist
Believing in God but Living as if He Doesn’t Exist
By: Craig Groeschel

Buy The Christian Atheist at


Zondervan.com.
Learn More

Learn More | Zondervan on Scribd | Zondervan.com

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