Sean Johnson - Intentionally - The Education of Sean Johnson

You’d be amazed at how many people get upset when they learn that I really don’t care about the whole evolution vs. creationism thing.

My Christian friends wonder how I can not care about a debate that is so pivotal to the “Christian cause.” They wonder how something as big and important as the origin of life could be so unimportant to me.

My non-Christian friends wonder how I can not care about where we came from. They wonder how I can just blindly follow a faith that is incompatible with science and reason.

I used to be very interested in the subject. I used to read book after book about the origins of the universe, about dinosaurs, about hydrodynamics and volcanoes and the like. I used to get into intense discussions with folks about the various theories, their counterarguments and the counterarguments to those.

But at some point, not exactly sure when, I woke up to a startling reality. I realized that how I got here is significantly less important than why I got here.

Evolution is very much at odds with ‘Young Earth’ theory, but it is not at odds in the slightest with the existence of a higher power. In fact, the scientist or physicist who is totally honest with themself is willing and able to recognize that at some point, their story of evolution requires something to get it all started. It requires a catalyst. They realize that no matter how many links in the chain they’re able to find for their cause, they’re still missing the source of that chain. At some point, they must acknowledge that either something came from nothing, or that something has always been.

So it comes down to a decision. Many people decide to not worry much about the source of the chain and focus on the links. I simply decided to do the opposite.

I think it’s great that so many people are passionate about a given topic - many people live their whole lives without ever really being passionate about anything. But I think that both sides are missing the point. I think that both sides are arguing about something that doesn’t really get them anywhere. Sure, I’m curious about how there could be so much evidence out there pointing to an evolutionary background. Sure, I’m likewise curious about how if it took billions and billions of years to get to this point, why it is that the whole of human history, the story of progress and pain and joy and suffering and war and innovation and architecture and sport and love all took place in the tiniest of windows within that enormous timeline.

But I don’t fret about whether I came from a monkey, and I don’t fret over whether the world was truly made in seven days. What I fret about are the larger questions that we’re choosing to avoid, instead wrapping ourselves up in a debate that will ultimately not determine how we live our lives and will not determine what happens to me once my life is finished. Most importantly, it will never provide me with the reasons why my heart feels so much pain, feels so much love, and all the while longs for something that it can’t fully articulate yet feels constantly.

I few years ago, I was reading the creation story in Genesis, and I stumbled upon something that floored me. There was one idea that was repeated over and over again in the Garden of Eden. It wasn’t that the world was created in seven days. It wasn’t how God seperated day from night. It wasn’t the process by which Adam named the animals. It wasn’t the exact longitude and latitude of the Garden itself.

The one idea that keeps getting repeated in the Garden, before the fall of man, during the period where we were able to walk with God in the cool of the grass, was that they were naked, and they weren’t ashamed.

Going further, after Adam and Eve from the bad tree, the very first thing that happens is that they realize they are naked, and they make themselves clothing.

Evolution doesn’t explain this anywhere. Creation science doesn’t explain this. Science and reason can explain a great many things, but they will never ever explain why in the world we wear clothing.

There is a longing that resides in every one of our hearts for something, and that something is not found inside of ourselves. That something we’re looking for is always rooted in others. We seek to be loved by others. We seek money so we have power over others. We seek to do a good job at work so we’re admired or respected or feared by others. We make fools of ourselves so we’re noticed by others. I’m writing this in large part so I feel as though my opinions and my ideas are valued by others. It is present in everything we say and everything we do. And it is not explained by reason, and it is not explained by science. We know that we’re intensely relational creatures, but we haven’t the faintest idea why.

What if the Genesis story wasn’t about creation at all? What if it wasn’t designed to be a scientific document, to be analyzed and measured and used as evidence for some hypothesis that was then tested and held under the weight of scientific scrutiny?

What if the story of Genesis had absolutely nothing to do with how we got here and everything to do with why?

What if we were in love with someone so deeply, had a level of intimacy so great that felt we could take on the world? What if we knew that no matter how clumsy or awkward or childish or stupid we were we would still be loved with an intensity and a passion that made us completely and utterly happy? A love so intense that it made us literally able to walk around naked and be unashamed, because we had the knowledge that our glory came from someone else and that someone else was loving us more than we could ever possibly imagine?

And what if we did something to lose that intimacy, and in an instant it was gone? What if we could no longer spend our days and afternoons and evenings with them, we could no longer talk with them face-to-face, we could no longer feel their presence in the same way? Would we be insecure? Would we be ashamed? If our glory were indeed found in someone else and that someone else was gone, would be feel the same way?

Would we try to do something to cover up our insecurity? Would we put on clothing? Would we try to surround ourselves with money and houses and cars so we felt glorious? Would we do whatever it took, sacrificing our bodies and our self-worth, to have a glimpse of that love again? Would we surround ourselves with walls so that we wouldn’t have to reveal our nakedness, our insecurity, our fear?

Would these substitutes be enough? Would they serve as suitable replacements for that love we once had, that intimacy we once experienced? Or would we still, in the quiet of the night when our masks were off, still be painfully aware of that thing that was missing?

What if those simple chapters in that old book managed to explain the reason for why we feel this way, why we do the things we do to ourselves and each other, and why we find ourselves so often perusing the aisles at some fancy department store, hoping to cover ourselves up with something a little more glorious than what we’ve been able to find so far?

And what if we were so short-sighted that we instead spent our time worrying about how a particular fossil bed ended up that way?

What if we completely missed the point?