An Open Letter to My Atheist Husband
My dear,
I love you for who you are.
I did not marry you to change you. Your unapologetic honesty about your lack of belief is one of your main attractions for me. Especially as I’d had guys lie about the extent of their faith in order to get with me in the past.
While Christian boyfriends broke my heart, you were always there for me. You loved me, but did not make romance a requirement of our friendship. Of course, that doesn’t mean you didn’t ask. Repeatedly. But you always respected my response, even when it was dismissive and cavalier (I’m sorry about that by the way). We’d tear each other apart with our different world views. I repeated this to you and myself, and I honestly believed it for a long time. And maybe we would have torn each other apart if we’d gotten together sooner, when we both thought the world was more black and white.
Growing up a minister’s kid, I’d seen many people in inter-faith relationships, and it was often very sad. The believer grieved daily for their partner because of that part of our religion that says nonbelievers are going to hell. How could I be with someone I knew I’d pressure on a daily basis to change? I never wanted to do that to you. You were and are too good a person. And it didn’t seem very Christ-like to treat you, my friend, that way. Looking back I also don’t think I was ready or willing to deal with my beliefs around hell when it comes to good and kind people like you.
But even with my repeated rejection of romance, you were there for me whenever I needed a friend. That is f-ing rare. And that is what made me start to notice you.
But when we first got together, that verse about being unequally yoked remained an understandable concern for me, and for my believing friends and family. Many Christians are taught from a very young age to avoid marrying those of other beliefs because, at best, we will live without someone to support us in our faith and at worst, will fall away from our faith. My parents were understandably apprehensive. When you and I first announced we were dating, my dad went to a good friend and Elder in our church, and shared these concerns about our relationship. The friend asked my dad, “Does this man love your daughter the way that Christ loves the his people?” And my dad, having witnessed our decade plus of friendship and your very evident and sacrificial love for me through your actions, not just your words, realized that the answer was “yes!”
Over the last thirteen years of our marriage, I have learned that to live outside of a faith community at home is not for the faint of heart, but the rewards it has brought outweigh the difficulties. We have both fought to be honest and open about our beliefs together and both of us have had learn to shut the hell up and listen to each other in order to fully communicate. And because you keep reminding me to listen without interrupting (thank you!), I now have a much better understanding of why the natural world and the science behind it inspires you and many others, and much less fear of death should my faith prove to be empty (I hope not — but it is faith, and thus unprovable). I love God more fearlessly now. My mind and heart have been opened to see new perspectives on many things. And this has lead me to a greater understanding of the verse in question:
We are equally yoked in our pursuit of what is right and true.
We may come at it from different sides, but that only expands my understanding of the vastness and wonderfulness of the God I believe in. I have come to realize that God is much, much bigger than I have given him credit for. After singing song after song and attesting for years to the greatness of God, I have been challenged to actually experience that greatness, by looking at the world through your eyes, to see that God is bigger than my world-view, the values of my upbringing or my community’s interpretation of the Bible. It is exciting and it is terrifying. I now understand a little better why Solomon in Proverbs talks of fearing the Lord. It’s the kind of fear that you get right before you jump off a cliff, with no view of what’s below, trusting that the water below is deep enough to carry you (I’ve done this in real-life, and it’s the closest to this experience I can think of). God has repeatedly been there for me with each cliff he has called me to leap from since we have gotten together. And though the water I fall into may be cold, hard or rough sometimes, I am never alone. My faith has only deepened.
And with the deepening of my faith has come this understanding about hell: the fact I don’t understand it, and more importantly, it’s not what matters about my faith. What matters is how we live in this life here and now. How I and others have glossed over Jesus’ words of “judge not” and felt we knew who was worth saving and who was not — well, I will say for my part: I was wrong. I do not know if there is a heaven (I hope so!) or a hell (do we not make this world a hell with our wars, divisions and hatreds?), but I do know that God has called me to do justly, to show mercy, and walk humbly with him, and to love my neighbor as I love myself — the greatest commandment. And I can do that with you. In fact, I think I do it better with you. This is because I have been challenged, to the depths of my identity, to let go of my own preconceptions of God and what he can do, which has lead me examine the injustice, the judgement and the pride in my own heart on deeper levels than I likely would do if I was only surrounded by those who are like-minded.
I believe that if we Christians talked less about hell and spent more time listening to and loving the world we are in now, we’d have many more followers of Christ, who himself came because “God so loved the world.” We’d be less about changing people, and more about changing ourselves.
An interfaith marriage isn’t for everyone, but I do recommend some robust interfaith friendships built on real communication — where there is listening and acceptance with no strings attached (e.g., “if you’d only read this book, you’ll see the flaws in your beliefs”). This is thanks to you.
And that is why I do not live in grief or fear over your salvation. Because this large and loving God, if he truly exists, has got you, and loves you way more than I do. As you are. Since he’s a loving God, I reckon he’ll figure out how to reach you in the way you need to be reached when the time is right. That is a wonderful hope. But, however it all shakes out — whether God is real or not, I will be here and loving you with a fearlessness I hope will only increase.
You have indeed changed over the years, and so have I, but that change has grown out of love and honest communication around the boundaries that make us who we are. Not from fear or grief on either side.
Thanks for being you, and for making the effort to listen to me without interrupting too. I am with you and for you. For better for worse, no matter what.
I love you for who you are.
Thank you for loving me for who I am too.
Your wife
