Pondering the existence of God… from the bottom of a big black bag.

My mother is an enthusiastic charity shopper.  One side-effect of this is that she has ALOT of clothes. Every now and again she has a good clear out and I am often the chosen recipient. Oh joy! Anyone whose mother has ever attempted to pass on clothes knows that this is not always a blessing.  (I have written about this before if you’d like to be reminded of the feelings induced by a gift of BIG pants https://sheilabridgeblog.com/2011/05/06/wrestling-with-socks-and-sundry-other-smallish-objects/  )

Anyway, last week she came up to stay and brought an ominously large black bag.  I worked my way down through the contents of blouses and skirts, murmuring appreciation whereever possible,  I reached the bottom of the bag only to encounter  a huge cardboard sign with the words

This was both hilarious and extraordinarily odd given that my mother and the Almighty have been on close speaking terms ever since she was a wee girl singing ‘By Blue Galilee’ out of a CSSM chorus book in the Gospel Hall Sunday School in Dalry.

It turned out Mum had inadvertently recycled some signs written on cardboard to give the bottom of the bag a firmer base. She hadn’t noticed what was on the cardboard but it was in her hand-writing. There were in fact 4 large pieces of cardboard in all, each graced with a Bible verse.

‘Where is your God?’ Ps 42:3

‘You are my God’ Ps 31:14

‘Behold your God’ Is 40:9

These were obviously part of some talk given somewhere (on the subject of ‘God’ one assumes).  She had made these cards as a visual aid although why she had opted for only one phrase from Ps 14 and not the full quote (‘The fool says in his heart there is no God’), goodness (or God) only knows.

Anyway there it was lying at the bottom of  this deep black bag, not the usual place you’d expect to find existential statements.

And I thought ‘Well, that’s a bit of a let down, you could have told me earlier, I’ve somewhat redirected my whole life on the premise that God does, in fact, exist’.  Of course, I was laughing. Given the context and my mother’s increasing dottiness, it was just one of those funny moments.

But it did remind me of Pascal’s wager. Pascal was a 17th century philosopher and mathematician. He made the suggestion that it was worth believing in God because if you are right you have gained everything that goes with that belief ( a life lived hopefully in the knowledge of your creator, life after death etc) but if you are wrong you have lost nothing because there was never was anything to lose in the first place.  So he concluded you are better off believing.

Most statistical indicators would concur that people with religious belief tend to live longer and be more content, even though the signs paid for by atheists put up on London buses a few years ago urged us to ‘Stop Worrying… because there probably isn’t a God’ .  I never really understood their logic – the non-existence of God would ‘worry’ me far more than his existence does but maybe that’s because I don’t see him as some harsh, indifferent ‘meanie’ out to catch you out.

If I was shocked by my mother’s sign, how much more shocking would it be to get to the bottom of the big black bag that is your life and find a sign saying ‘There IS a God’.

Which of the two would be the greater shock?

I’m with Pascal on this one.