If you missed it, or you’ve never heard of the show, picture this:

Tu Face is enjoying what looks like an expensive dinner. He is flanked by five other celebrities at the table. Small talk is leading to more small talk. Popular South African TV personality, Andile Ncube, begins to compliment Tu Face and his wife about their marriage.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Tu Face starts to express some strange thoughts:

Tu Face: “So for me, the way I look at marriage, and the way I look at relationships now is… just say what you want… I just wanna f*ck! Just say it.”

An awkward silence grips everyone at the table. His wife, Annie Idibia (now ex-wife), sitting next to him, tries to caution him about his language. But he goes on:

“I’m only going to make love to who I love. But I can–I can f*ck when my ‘manly nature’ asks me to f*ck.”

Unable to contain her own exasperation, female rapper and media personality Nadia Nakai, interrupts him with a question. From here, it starts to evolve into a dramatic exchange:

Nadia: “Hold on, hold on, wait, sorry, wait — are you saying this specifically (applies) to you?”

Tu Face: “Like it or not, men are wired like that — a man would love a woman to hell, but maybe he’s somewhere, his d”ck would just decide something else —”

Nadia: “No, his mind. Not his d*ck, it’s not its own entity —”

Tu Face: “Okay, however you look at it, he will f*ck —”

Despite the uneasiness in the body language of his fellow media stars, Tu Face continues to ratchet up the tension with every attempt to reply or explain.

In order to ensure he is not being misunderstood, Annie, Nadia, and others start pressing him to clarify. They want to know if he is simply generalizing or if he is revealing his own personal beliefs. In one final, frustrated response, he blurts out:

“I am saying this is what I feel! This is what I think. This is how I reason.”

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Before we get into the meat of this essay, let me explain what it is, and what it is not.

This is not a moral preach, sermon, or Bible study lesson. Instead, it is a much-needed exposition about the one thing responsible for all the misery of human life.

For most people, it is an uncomfortable thing to talk about. We would rather discuss happiness, wealth, success, and whatever the process is for achieving these things. But when it comes to sin, it is as if we are not supposed to say too much.

The reason why this is important — as we shall see — is that we cannot fully appreciate the magnitude, or the necessity, of being saved by God if we are unaware of the extent to which we are captured by the problem of sin.

Perhaps you are someone who thinks the idea of sin and sinfulness is just religious nonsense which has no place in any serious public conversation. My hope is that this essay will urge you to think again.

As you read this essay, you will begin to notice the pernicious reality of sin, not just in the outside world, but in your own life.

Returning to the scene at the dinner table, it is clear that Tu Face was trying to communicate something. But it is not clear if he understood the significance of what he was trying to say. Take, for example, this statement:

“Like it or not, men are wired like that.”

On the surface, it looked as if he was just describing how difficult it is for a man to rebel against his own primal urges. But if you cook this statement in the pot of Scripture and boil it prayerful meditation, you will begin to see the smoke of this thing we are trying our best to hide from.

Sin.

Everyone has a general idea of what sin is. But what is it, really.

We know it as a verb. That is, to do something. To either commit a wrongdoing, or omit a rightdoing. But is that all?

Again, let us recall what Tu Face said:

“Like it or not, men are wired like that.”

“I am saying this is what I feel! This is what I think. This is how I reason.”

It looked as if he was only trying to make factual statements. But on the other hand, if you are familiar with his prolific history of extramarital relations, it is not hard to see why his co-celebrities were repulsed by what they were hearing.

That being said, let us not get distracted. We are on to something here.

What happened in this episode was extraordinary. I suspect he was not aware of it himself, but Tu Face managed to sum up the greatest predicament of the entire human race.

If we dig into the core of what he was trying to say, our shovels will hit something that sounds like this:

“I am a sinner, and I cannot help myself.”

Take a few moments to look at his statements again.

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It becomes crystal clear when you look at a previous comment he made at the table. He spoke of a ‘manly nature’ as if it was something he feels obliged to obey.

In essence, he was describing a natural propensity to act in a certain type of way. A natural predisposition he feels unable to control.

That predisposition is sin.

Not the verb form, but the noun. This is the factory setting, the default state, the basic nature, or the usual condition of every man — and woman.

In his famous letter to the church in Rome, Paul elaborates:

“I have discovered this principle of life—that when I want to do what is right, I inevitably do what is wrong. I love God’s law with all my heart. But there is another power within me that is at war with my mind. This power makes me a slave to the sin that is still within me.”

— Romans 7:21-23 [NLT]

It is easy to be disgusted at Tu Face’s remarks and to call him names. To be clear, I do not think his statements justify his moral decisions. But at the very least, you have to give him credit for telling the truth. The truth that you are unwilling to tell yourself.

You are a sinner, and you cannot help yourself.

How is it possible that you are able to recognize and judge error in others, but you cannot identify it in yourself?

The reality of sin is not unique to Tu Face or Paul the apostle. It is a principle at work in all of us.

“For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” — Romans 3:23 [NIV]

In our modern world, so many of us are allergic to this verdict. If you suggest to someone that he is a sinner, he will likely curse, dismiss, mock you and move on as if the point does not merit some thinking.

Look at this tweet for example:

This, at best, betrays a state of innocent ignorance. At worst, it is symptomatic of dangerous pride. Sin is a nature, and if you have been paying attention, you would have noticed it in yourself.

Whether or not you are convinced of how it came to be, the fact remains that it is at work in you.

“I am saying this is what I feel! This is what I think. This is how I reason.”

Tu Face may not have been able to explain why he feels, thinks, and reasons that way. But the man is supremely conscious of something happening inside him. He is aware of a feature in himself and in others, which others are too fearful or too proud to admit.

This feature is the tendency to do the wrong thing, regardless of context or consequence.

This feature is sin.

Of course you may have done some good deeds in your life, but that is not your default mode. Your default is to be selfish, to envy, to lust, to be greedy, to covet, to scheme and manipulate, to lie, to plunder, to rage, to abuse, and to kill.

Are you beginning to see why an ancient group of people needed the Ten Commandments?

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Even today, in our high-tech societies with our complex systems of law and order, we still sin. Children are still disobedient. Parents are still abusive. Neighbours are still vindictive. Landlords are still unpleasant. Doctors are still negligent. Politicians are still corrupt. Judges still miscarry justice. Businesspeople still lie, cheat and fail to honour agreements.

Everywhere around us, sin is still the norm. It is the constant factor.

If you are not a stranger to your own sin, then you know what it is like when you try to oppose it. You know the feeling: that tension, that resistance within. You know it is real. As real as your heartbeat.

Even on those days when you resolved to be on your best behaviour, you can recall the moments when your sin broke out of its cage.

“Oh, what a miserable person I am! Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death?” — Romans 7:24 [NLT]

This is why we need saving. This is why humanity desperately needs to be changed. This is the purpose of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It is not a message about free tickets to board Heaven Express, it is about what has been done to free you from the power of sin.

“Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord.” — Romans 7:25 [NLT]

Friends, a denial of sin is a denial of reality — which itself is a sin, because that is a lie.

On a very personal level, we all know what sin is. Everyone knows. Even the owner of that tweet. He knows. He knows sin, not as a concept, but as an element in himself. His problem is that he would sooner die than seek the redeeming mercy of a higher power.

For him, that would be a humiliating choice to make. Because it violates everything that makes him feel like an independent, autonomous agent capable of deciding his own destiny.

For him, it is in his “best interests” to deny that there is such a thing as an authority above himself. He would rather suppress the truth than face it.

“ But God shows his anger from heaven against all sinful, wicked people who suppress the truth by their wickedness. They know the truth about God because he has made it obvious to them.” — Romans 1:18-19 [NLT]

The good news is that we are not hopeless. There is a way out.

But first, you need to come face to face with your sin. You need to grab it by the collar and look it dead in the eye. It is right there.

Even if you have been a Christian all your life, you need to face it. Because if you never had to face your sin before you came to Christ, you need to wonder how you became a Christian.

Being saved is not about being sorry for some indiscretions in your past life. It is about knowing that you have been set free from the power of sin in your present life.

Like Tu Face, you are a sinner and you cannot help yourself. That is the exact reason why you need Jesus Christ.

When thinking about God, it can often feel like the mind is stuck in a sort of traffic with no hope of movement. If this feels familiar to you, you are in the right place.

Recently, I had the good fortune of obtaining a vintage copy of John Mackay’s A Preface to Christian Theology. In this magnificent book, Mackay illustrates two types of people who are interested in knowing God. He uses symbols to characterize, specifically, the state of mind at work in these two people.

One is called the Balcony, and the other is the Road.

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Before we explore the meaning of these symbols, let us begin with some basics.

God is inscrutable.

Our problem with knowing God begins with our failure to comprehend this fact. God, unlike every perceptible thing in the universe, is beyond the reach of our capacity to interrogate objects and ideas with our minds.

We are able to study the universe, conduct experiments on it, and reach conclusions based on the findings of those tests. But with God, we can not hope to achieve any robust understanding by such reasoning or experimentation. In the fifty-fifth chapter of Isaiah, God makes it clear:

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts…”

— Isaiah 55:8 [NIV]

When it comes to knowing God, many people complain about failing to grasp anything substantial. You might be one of them. You might have even accused God of being non-existent or guilty of the crime of “divine hiddenness.” If this is you, it might be more fruitful for you to examine the condition of your heart in your attempt to know God.

The condition of the heart is paramount in knowing God. Mackay describes this well. To me, it is the best description of one’s attitude to God that I have ever come across. Let me try to illustrate in my own words:

Imagine an urban Spanish house with a high front balcony overlooking the road. You see a person on the balcony observing the road. You see another person on the road walking, stopping, and maybe asking strangers for directions. Let us call the person on the balcony the ‘Balcony guy’ and the one on the road the ‘Road man.’

The Balcony guy talks with others on the balcony about various elements of the road. He studies it and comments on the state, history, diverging paths, and other things that can be observed about the road. Generally, his interest in the road is limited to his fascination with it. His aim is to reason and explain what he can see.

In all his efforts, the Balcony guy does not seek to be on the road himself. He is either hesitant or unwilling to engage with the realities of the journey. He may have a knack for intellectual discussion, but after all is said and done, he is just a spectator. He has no skin in the game. He deals in ideas and theories about the road, but his life is divorced from the practicalities of being on it.

This type of person will never know God.

Hard as he may try, he is hopeless from the start. As Mackay puts it:

“If the seeker is moved primarily by curiosity; if he believes that truth about God and man and life can be obtained by his regarding these realities as so many objects of study; if he strives throughout his quest to maintain a severely detached attitude, never allowing himself to make an irretrievable commitment in favor of anything that shall appear to him to be true, the resultant viewpoint will be spiritually blurred.”1

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You will fail to understand anything about God if you start with the wrong bearings.

If you are motivated by your self-interest, if you think you should be able to know, or that you deserve to know, simply because you are asking the question, your search for God will be futile.

Even if your interest in God extends beyond mere curiosity; for instance, if you find yourself in dire straits, hoping for the intervention of a supernatural power, and you are motivated only by a desire for God to reveal Himself as a solution to your problem, you will not know much either.

It is possible, though, to know a thing or two about God by reading your Bible or experiencing a miracle. But as a human being, even you would agree there is a big difference between someone who knows a thing or two about you versus someone who knows you.

“Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.” — Matthew. 5:8 [KJV]

Your heart is where the issue is, because that is where your motives lie. It is not about what you say or do; it is about why.

Let us turn our attention to the Road man. This is a man who starts his journey not because he is curious, but because he is concerned.

You might ask: “What is he concerned about?” This is it:

He is concerned about being right with God.

This is a man who is pure in heart. He does not seek God because he is inquisitive or desperate. Instead, he is driven by a need to set himself right with God. He wants to live his life according to God’s will. He wants to know God’s true purpose and calling upon his life.

To this end, he makes a decision. He decides that he will search for God — the only one who can show him the way. His concern for righteousness forces a commitment, and it is his commitment that sets him on the Road.

He lives his life on the Road, where he runs into real problems. Unlike the Balcony guy, his problems are not theoretical. On the Road, he needs to decide which way to go. He has no use for fruitless debate. He is a man of action. His journey brings him face-to-face with practical questions, and sometimes, those questions are too difficult to answer.

“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.” — Psalm 32:8 [ESV]

God sees him on the Road and meets him there. At different stops, he discovers the answer to a difficult problem, a new route, or a fresh insight, and he begins to understand God. Over time, his knowledge of God reaches depths that would never have been possible if he had only sought intellectual stimulation or waited for a supernatural encounter.

For this man, his experience of God will be hard to put into words, but he will know, within himself, that he has tasted God.

Many of us, Christians or not, live on the Balcony. We theorize and proselytize about God, but we have not made a decision. We are not on the Road.

You do not need to guess where you are; you only need to look into your heart.

The Road requires what Mackay describes as an “irretrievable commitment.” A will to know, and be known by God. It is not easy and it is not meant to be. But if you choose the Road, you will find something reassuring. That is:

Knowing God is not reserved for a special kind of person. It is a gift that is available to you if you would only seek Him with the right intention.

Also, given the enormous significance of this particular issue, I decided to try and do a bit more justice to my survey response with this essay.

Trigger warning: This essay contains details associated with suicide. If you suspect that you may find it distressing, please do not proceed.

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At the time of publishing this essay, it is illegal to assist a person to commit suicide in the UK. However, on 29 November 2024, MPs voted in favour of a bill to legalize ‘assisted dying’ for terminally ill adults. As a result of this vote, the bill moved a step further on its journey towards becoming a new UK law.

There have been many strong feelings for and against this bill which makes it a highly contentious issue to discuss. But here, I hope to make a gentle case for why I think the bill should not become a law.

Every year, over 300 terminally ill people kill themselves in England.1 More than 3000 attempt to do so unsuccessfully. On average, 50 of them travel to places like Switzerland to seek a medically assisted death. They often feel compelled to end their lives because of the progressive and debilitating symptoms of their illness, and it is difficult not to feel great sadness and sympathy on hearing personal accounts of the horrific ways many of them try to put an end to their lives.

Their loved ones also suffer. Apart from watching a terminally ill relative deteriorate, loved ones live in the terrifying uncertainty as to whether they would be prosecuted if they helped their dying relative to die earlier. The assisted dying bill was therefore put forward as a solution to this difficult problem. It proposes that the law should be changed to allow terminally ill adults to end their lives in a way that they wish, at a time of their choosing, so that they need not continue to endure suffering, and so their loved ones need not continue to fear the possibility of prosecution under the current law.

There are 3 major arguments advanced by supporters of this bill. They are:

1. Choice

2. Compassion, and

3. Dignity

The most powerful argument is for “choice.” Those who support the bill make the case that a terminally ill person who suffers unbearably from symptoms of their illness should be given the choice of how and when to end their life. This belief is neatly summed up in statements like these:

“There should be a presumption in favour of you having sovereignty over your own body.” — Sir Nicholas Mostyn (retired British High Court judge)

“If I decide that my own life is not worth living, please may I ask for help to die. It is a choice.” — Dame Esther Rantzen (veteran BBC Journalist)

Next is the argument for “compassion.” Those who support the bill see it as an act of virtue and kindness to help end the life of a terminally ill person who is suffering to the extent that they wish for their life to end sooner. We see this thought reflected in the following statements:

“I believe this is a compassionate change to the law.” — Rishi Sunak (Former UK Prime Minister, Conservative MP for Richmond and Northallerton)

“This is not about ending life, it is about shortening death.” — David Cameron (Former UK Prime Minister, Member of the House of Lords)

The third argument focuses on “dignity.” Those who support the bill posit that a terminally ill person will suffer progressive injury to their dignity unless they are given the option of being assisted to die as they wish. Here are another two statements that reveal the strength of this feeling:

“A dignified death is our right — I am in favour of assisted dying” — Desmond Tutu (Former Archbishop of Cape Town, South Africa)

“My Lords, in the last stages of a terminal illness, there are people who wish to end their life rather than struggle for the last few months, weeks, days or hours. Often it is not the pain that motivates such a wish, but the loss of independence and dignity.” — Charlie Falconer (Former Lord Chancellor and Secretary of State for Justice, Member of the House of Lords)

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It is important to be clear that many of those in favour of assisted dying support it with good intentions. But as is often the case in life, good intentions do not always translate to sound conclusions. There is much to be said about assisted dying, even about the choice of words, but I will begin by focusing on the arguments themselves.

I do not support assisted dying, and the reasons for my objection are philosophical and practical. First, we need to examine the argument for “choice,” because this is at the core of what makes this debate contentious.

Choice is the prerogative of an owner. If you own something, then you can choose what to do with it. As a society, for us to justify granting ourselves permission to end one another, the first question we have to answer is this:

Do we own ourselves?

At the risk of offending some readers, I will make this clear: I believe we are created by God, and thus, we do not own ourselves. I believe we are accountable to God for what we do with our lives, and with the lives of others. I am aware that not everyone shares this view of themselves and of the world. So, I will briefly press hold on my view, and push this argument forward from a secular worldview.

Let us say, for argument’s sake, that God does not exist. Let us say, for argument’s sake, that the world and everything in it is a product of inexplicable chance. If this is the case, that we arrived here by spontaneous cosmic forces and unguided evolutionary processes, then on what grounds do we own ourselves? On what grounds do we argue for “choice” or arrogate any “rights” to our lives?

In a random universe, a “right” does not exist because there is no basis for it. In a random universe, things just are. There is only what is, and what is not. In a random universe, a presupposed “right” is arbitrary and meaningless. There is no de facto “right to live” or “right to die.” In that world, you are just able to live and able to die. If a person wanted to end their own life, or the life of another, they could do so because they are “able” to do so. But being “able” to do something is not the same as having the “right” to do it.

A “right” can only exist where there is a concept of value. Only a creature of value can possess a “right.” If a creature does not have value, it can not have rights; and without rights, it can not make a presumption of “choice.” If we agree on the premise that a human life has value, then we must answer the question: Where does that value come from?

The value of a thing is determined first by its maker, before anything else. If human beings are made by nothing but chance, then we have no intrinsic value. However, if we are made by God, does that give us any value?

“Then God said, ‘Let us make human beings in our image, to be like us.’” — Genesis 1:26 [NLT]

“Know that the Lord is God. It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.” — Psalm 100:3 [NIV]

The basis for the value of human life is that we are made in the image of God. In the order of created things, nothing else was made to resemble God. This makes us profoundly valuable irrespective of our physical attributes or life experiences, and it is on this basis that we have such a concept as “human rights.” If we accept that we have value, and that God is the source of our value, we must then ask ourselves: Does God, who is our source of value, permit us to intentionally take our own lives, or to assist others in doing so?

“Life is a certain gift from heaven bestowed on man, and is subject to his power who kills and brings about life. And thus whoever takes his own life sins against God: just as whoever kills another’s servant sins against the master of whom he is the servant; and just as he sins who usurps to himself judgment of something not entrusted to himself. For to God alone belongs the judgment of death and life: according to Deuteronomy 32, “I will kill and I will make live.’”2

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In his Summa Theologiae, Thomas Aquinas nails the precise point that if we are created and sustained by God, we can not justify ending our own lives or aiding others to do so, because it violates God's unchanging principle of life and death. But you might say: “None of this helps a person who is experiencing unbearable pain and suffering from a terminal illness.”

You are right, and that leads us to examine the arguments for compassion and dignity.

Right now in England, the Southport killings are still fresh in the memory of the public.3 News of the event pierced through the heart of the nation. Three young girls were mercilessly killed at the hands of a deranged monster, and many others were injured. Those who know this tragic story would immediately, without hesitation, agree that the perpetrator deserved the death penalty. But he did not get it because, in 1969, capital punishment was abolished in England.

You might ask: “What does this have to do with assisted dying?”

The principle.

The reason why capital punishment was abolished in England was not to show leniency to murderers, nor was it to observe the first principle that ultimate judgement should rest in the hands of God. Rather, it was because of a second principle:

That the state should not be involved in the taking of a life.4

Inasmuch as we would like to see the Southport killer confined to a chair and served up as a meal to dozens of starving rats, the state had long ago abdicated its role in executing death penalties — and for good reasons. Chief of those reasons is our fallibility as human beings. Judges and juries can often be wrong. If there was another case, and we retrospectively found out that the wrong judgement was passed, and it had led to the sanctioning of death against the accused person, there is no option to go back and restore the ended life.

This is a concern that can not be ignored in discussions about assisted dying. Unfortunately, many supporters of the bill are quick to make light of this concern. They highlight two major provisions in the proposed bill to bolster their claim that it has adequate safeguards. They say:

1. Assisted dying will be restricted to terminally ill adults with 6 months left to live

2. Assisted dying will not be prone to error and abuse because two doctors and a judge will be involved in the decision-making process.

There are two big problems here:

1. No doctor can tell you, with absolute certainty, that you have 6 months left to live.

2. These experts (two doctors and a judge) are not able to see and know all things.

To propose a bill with a prognostic limit of 6 months is to think that doctors have special insight into the future. In case you did not know, doctors often avoid telling terminally ill patients how long they have left to live, because we do not know. There are patients who have lived far longer than they were expected or told they would live. I have met such patients myself. Thus, the 6-month provision is not a safeguard; it is a dangerous guess and a random qualifying criterion.

The next big problem is to do with intangibles. These are the things that experts, regardless of knowledge and experience, can not see. The most worrying of them is “coercion.” Are doctors and judges omniscient enough to know when someone is silently being coerced to kill themselves? This is, unfortunately, another issue downplayed by proponents of assisted dying. And it should not be downplayed, because the consequences for the most vulnerable members of society are massive.

“We are told that there is no evidence of coercion in jurisdictions where assisted dying is possible. But people do not generally write letters to sick relatives urging them to consider assisted suicide and then put those letters on file. Coercion in the family context can be about not what you say, but about what you don’t say — the long meaningful pause.”

— Diane Abbott (Labour MP for Hackney North and Stoke Newington)

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No one disputes the plight of people who suffer unbearably from terminal illness. No one disagrees that, as a society, we should be compassionate. No one disagrees that we should, in every way possible, attempt to make death as painless and dignifying as possible. There are ways to do this, we already do it, and we can get better at doing it.

Palliative care is assisted dying. The whole ethos of this specialty is to make the terminally ill comfortable as they make their journey towards their final breath. Administering a lethal medication to hasten death is not assisted dying. We know what it is, and we must be honest about it. It is assisted suicide.

There are those who say even the best palliative care can not ameliorate certain degrees of pain. Two things I will say to that:

1. Pain is multifactorial and it is treatable.

2. Inequalities exist in access to palliative care which must be fixed.

Pain, by itself, is a symptom. But the degree to which you experience pain can be influenced by many things. For example, there are people who begin to require less pain relief because of a positive change in their living conditions, and there are people who begin to require more pain relief because of depression, family stresses or financial anxieties.

That is not to say that pain, by itself, can not cause an unbearable amount of suffering — it can. But modern medicine is not at a stage where pain control for the terminally ill is impossible to achieve. Non-drug treatments have often been shown to significantly improve pain outcomes when combined with drug treatments. And we should be mindful that there is a difference between “severe” pain and “unrelieved” pain.

The more pertinent issue here is inequality of access to care. Because in the UK, fewer than half of all cancer patients receive a strong opioid before they die.5 If a terminal patient does not receive all the treatment they can get, and they express a wish to be helped to die, will that count as a “clear, settled, and informed” choice?

“How can we be possibly satisfied that this bill will deliver equality and freedom in death, when we do not yet have this in life?” — Florence Eshalomi (Labour MP for Vauxhall and Camberwell Green)

“The issue of choice is that people need to have real choices in care, and not be driven to see death as their only option because they are not getting the treatment and support that they need.” — Baroness Ilora Finlay (Professor of Palliative Medicine, Member of the House of Lords)

It is too perilous to pass a sweeping rule that legalizes assisted dying in a context where thousands of people do not have access to decent palliative care. If the law is passed, it is obvious that people who would otherwise not have opted to die will choose to die.

I am hoping we can agree that the primary purpose of a law is to protect people from harm, not expose them to it.

There is more to be said, but I must admit, I need to stop here because my eyes are getting tired. In another essay, I will discuss other concerns with this bill, such as the real potential for the bill to widen in scope and to include people who are not terminally ill. Again, many supporters of this bill are quick to frame this concern as baseless fearmongering. I am afraid it is not. But for now, I will end with this:

As a society, we must take a bird’s eye view of this proposed change to the law. We must examine it in its totality, and it must become clear to us that apart from breaching the cornerstone principles of preserving life, we are at acute risk of killing people who are already at risk of being pressured to die.

“Make it in Life”

At first, I found it amusing. Funny that somebody felt seriously determined to advertise this message to the public. But as I began to ponder the words, my smirk gently turned into a frown. The words echoed in my head, triggering a gradual feeling of despondency.

I did a quick assessment of my own life and, as expected, I was dissatisfied — very dissatisfied. I began to shift uncomfortably in my seat. I could not unsee those words anymore. They began to feel like an urgent call, like a command to marshal every force inside my body to obey.

“Make it in Life”

In our present culture, we instinctively know what those words mean: Get rich, become famous, or do both. Though brief, those words are the raw base for many of the motivational speeches you have ever heard. They are spoken as a charge to pursue something that moves you higher up the ladder of acclaim and status.

The message is seen and heard everywhere. From the YouTube videos telling you to “follow these 7 steps to build generational wealth,” to the TikTok accounts sharing “how I quit my 9 to 5 and retired before hitting 40.” The language and presentation may be different, but the underlying idea is the same:

“Make it in Life”

The pressure is huge. You see your peers getting jobs, getting rich, getting married, getting fit, getting famous, getting things and doing things and being things that you are not. And for that, you consider taking steps to achieve what this would look like in your own life.

Thoughts of success dominate your mind. The consequent enhancement it will bring to your life fills your imagination. And the thing you dread the most, after all is said and done, is to feel like a failure.

Millions around the globe wake up each day and set out to realize this common dream. They work, like you and me, to become their own version of a person who has made it in life. We are all able to make reasonable arguments that justify our constant obsession with success. But are we able to pause and consider if there is something more to reach for?

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On 7 January 1855, a 20-year-old gentleman mounted a platform and made this declaration:

“He who often thinks of God will have a larger mind than the man who simply plods around this narrow globe.”

He went on to say:

“Nothing will so enlarge the intellect, nothing so magnify the whole soul of man, as a devout, earnest, continued investigation of the great subject of the Deity.”

If you are like me, you can not help but wonder why, at such an early stage in his adult life, a man would say something like that. What is it about God that could dwarf any other thoughts, even thoughts of astronomical riches? What did this man know about God that made other things appear smaller in comparison?

This man was Charles Spurgeon, and it is estimated that his 3,561 sermons totalled 20 million words and reached up to 10 million people in his lifetime — without the help of the Internet. These figures are apart from the books he wrote which include a seven-volume series on the Psalms, a four-part autobiography, morning and evening devotionals, and many other works covering specific topics related to God.

Seeing this, you have got to ask yourself: What is it about God that made this man so committed to his “continued investigation?”

We know that life is finite. We are born, and we are going to die. We know that things perish. We buy things, consume them, wear them, use them, and eventually give them away — even if we don’t want to. Given these realities, it is clear that nothing is permanent. If this is so, then why are we consumed by thoughts of acquiring temporary things?

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If you stretch this thought further, you will begin to realize that we are not really after the things themselves. Rather, we are after what the things will mean to us. In other words, meaning is what we crave. Meaning is what we are chasing after. If I can get X, it will mean Y, and then I will be Z. We are trying to justify our existence by collecting things to make our lives mean something.

But we know, from experience, that the meaning we seek continues to elude us, even when we manage to achieve or acquire the things we thought would bring us meaning.

“Vanity of vanities,” says the Preacher;

“Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.”

— Ecclesiastes 1:2 [ESV]

What, then, can give us meaning?

My common sense tells me it can not be something temporary. Given that our observable universe is temporary, its temporary existence must depend on something else. If that something else is also temporary, its own existence must depend on yet another thing. If we continue along this line of thought, we will progress further and further into an infinite regress. It is only logical that the existence of all things must rest on a final, unchanging, permanent thing.

That thing is the ultimate reality. That thing is the be-all and end-all of all things. That thing is the source of meaning for all things. That thing is the most important thing. That thing is actually not a thing. That thing, by nature, is a Being.

A lot of the coming essays in this publication will seek to stretch these thoughts even further. But for now, it is enough to be aware that aggrandizing yourself with material success is not the most important thing.

In the final weeks before the pros (short for professional exams), I was knocking on doors and begging to sit the exams. If you’re wondering what could have caused me to be in such a predicament, there was this pesky thing called ‘attendance.’

I had failed to meet the minimum lecture attendance required for medical students to take the pros. For my year 3 pros, there were six exams to do. I could have forgiven myself if I did not meet the requirement for one, or two exams. But hello, I was blacklisted for five exams!

For those five exams, my experience was horrific. I had a long streak of sleepless nights. Not because I was studying, but because I was swinging between hope and despair. I could not decide whether studying was worth it because I did not know if I would even be allowed into the exam halls. For leniency and permission to enter, I stalked and begged many lecturers until the very last days. And each day came with its own special punishment.

For example, my haematology & clinical pathology essay was a 3 hour exam. On exam day, I stood outside the hall with a group of fellow delinquents. We kept asking the gatekeeping lecturer to pardon us and let us in. Finally, the lecturer opened the doors. Praise be to God, right? Not so fast. The lecturer let us in, but the exam had started 2 hours ago!

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It was a lost battle already. Nevertheless, I had two options. I could either concede defeat or make it epic. I figured, if I was a dead man already, I might as well go down swinging. So I asked the lecturer for answer sheets, picked up an empty chair, and went completely berserk. I did not stop to think, second-guess or double-check anything. I just kept glancing at the questions and writing non-stop. By the 3 hour mark, my sheets were peppered with barely legible ink marks and sweat. Even worse, I could neither feel nor unclutch my dominant hand from my pen.

The most interesting thing about this experience was not my rebellion against the impossible odds. It was the result. Specifically, it was how the news broke.

The most dreaded day in medical school is results day, if I can call it that. On average, it happens every 6 weeks after year-end professional exams. When results are released, everyone rushes to the foot of a big noticeboard to check for themselves and their friends. The noticeboard was usually at an admin block near the campus centre, while the student hostel was at the opposite end of the campus. Customarily, some students would march from the hostel to the admin block with a firm assurance of success. Most other students would not dare to be so sure. As for me, I had no doubt in my mind that I was finished.

On results day for year 3 pros, I could hear the mass hysteria in the hallways and stairs of the male hostel. I was in my room but I decided to stay in bed. I had already judged that if hope was a mirror, my image could never appear. After a few hours, the noise settled, and things seemed to be going back to normal. For me, this was a good time to go and assess the damage I had done to my life. I took an unusual route to the block to avoid meeting people and getting asked any questions. I just wanted to get there, confirm the bad news, and start making recovery plans.

Almost halfway there, I saw a friend whose matric number was next to mine. She was on her way back from the admin block. I could see her from a distance, and she could see me too. She was a bright fellow, so I was fairly certain she would pass the exams. The strange thing to me was that she kept smiling and waving as she approached me. I thought, “Surely she must have seen my results, so why is she still smiling?” Eventually, she came close enough for me to hear her say, “Dimeji congratulations!”

I thought she was crazy.

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But I thought to myself “She knows my number. She can’t be making this up. She’s known my number since year 1. She can’t be joking. She’s not that kind of person.” She was genuinely not the kind of person to pull a dangerous prank on others. But I was also aware of how hopeless my situation was. On one hand, I believed her, but on the other, I could not believe that what she was saying was true.

Finally, I got to the admin block. I came close to the almighty board and started the search for my number. Then, I saw it. My number right next to hers. “There! I passed! I passed all the exams! Every single one! Holy cow!” I was overwhelmed with emotion. Six weeks of absolute hell had culminated in indescribable joy. Even though she had said to me, “Dimeji congratulations,” standing there in front of the board felt like I was just knowing it for the first time. It was at that moment I really believed, because I had now seen it with my own eyes.

Inasmuch as I survived this near-fatal experiment with truancy in medical school, reflecting on this experience drew my attention to something more interesting. It reminded me of the Samaritan villagers in the gospel of John. If you recall the story of Jesus and the Samaritan woman, the lady ran back to her village to tell the people about Jesus. Notice what happens to the villagers in two distinct steps:

John 4:39 [NLT] Many Samaritans from the village believed in Jesus because the woman had said, “He told me everything I ever did!”

John 4:42 [NLT] They said “Now we believe, not just because of what you told us, but because we have heard him ourselves.”

The villagers believed the woman, but it was only after meeting Jesus they became certain that what she said was true.

Similarly, you may have heard about God all your life from other people. You may have heard many reasons to believe that God is real. You may have heard that God knows you, that He loves you, and that He wants a relationship with you. You may have heard this from your parents, peers, teachers, pastors or even total strangers. But there is one problem, and you know what it is.

You are not sure.

You are not sure if any of it is true. You have heard it time and again, but you are not truly convinced. Everything you know about God is what you have been told by others. So if you’re being honest, deep down, you are still skeptical about God. Your skepticism is causing frustration, and your frustration is making you lose faith. You want to believe it, but you are not certain that what you’ve been told is true.

Most people are like you. Because most people are also not sure. Even people who have climbed up a pulpit to preach a sermon. Many of them are also not sure. So do not be discouraged, because you are not alone.

To believe what I was told, I had to see my results. To believe what they were told, the villagers had to meet Jesus. The reason you are not sure is that you have only been told. Because to really believe, you have to experience it yourself.

Some commenters felt she should not have ‘embarrassed’ the country by revealing that her brother was robbed by policemen. Others felt grateful that a person of her political stature in Britain made her point by exposing a bit of the manifest rot in Nigerian society.

In all this, something else caught my attention, and it had nothing to do with the tyrannical habits of Nigerian men in uniform.

Bari: “Do you believe in God?”

Kemi: “Not anymore. But I am not an atheist, I am agnostic. I used to believe very much, but now I describe myself as a Cultural Christian.”1

On the surface, her response was clear and simple. But there is much to unpack about it. Nothing in this essay is intended for direction towards her in a negatively critical manner. This is, instead, written for the sole benefit of Christians who are interested in making sense of her response, wherever they may hear a similar thing being said. Having established that, let us start with the good stuff.

The first part of Kemi’s response reflects a degree of honesty that is not common among politicians. The typical politician is supposed to say something like: “Well, I believe that whether or not you have a religious faith, we can all work together to make a country great.” If you are reading this, you have likely heard this sort of response, or a variation of it, from a politician. You recognize it because it has that meandering effect which disappoints in the end because it is meaningless. It does not answer the question.

Kemi’s response was not meaningless. It was a sharp, concise verdict. Moreso, I imagine she must have arrived at it after much contemplation. The problematic stuff, however, begins with the final part of her response:

“I describe myself as a Cultural Christian.”

I was familiar with the term ‘Cultural Christian’ before I watched Kemi’s interview, but not before I heard famous atheist Richard Dawkins, describing himself as one in a different podcast several months earlier. If you haven’t heard this term before, it is often used to describe someone who appreciates or subscribes to the concept of Christian values without personally believing what Christians believe.

It is a sweet spot, if I may use that phrase, where anyone can claim a degree of association with Christianity while simultaneously distancing themselves from the convictions that define it. You might ask, what is the problem with that?

Three things.

First, the most obvious problem is the usage of the term. Let me illustrate: Say for example I am a physician assistant, I might relish it when patients, who do not know my credentials, address me as ‘Dr’ even when I am aware that they are unknowingly using the term to imply that I am a medical doctor. In fact, I might even be bold enough to suggest to them that I am “medically trained.”

But if I am called upon in a medical emergency or to perform a surgery, I would be more than happy to announce that I have not acquired training or expertise the sort of which would make me relevant in those situations. This would then beg the question: why have I previously appropriated the term ‘Dr’ when patients unknowingly address me so?

These are the facts: an agnostic is an agnostic, an atheist is an atheist, and a Christian is a Christian. Each of these positions has its own dispositions. There are things you would be inclined to believe, say or do depending on where you stand. The mere fact that you were raised in a Christian home, or that you live in a society founded on Christian principles, or that you value Christian teachings, or that you do deeds that would be expected of a Christian, or that you were even formerly a Christian, does not make you a ‘Cultural Christian.’

Similarly, if a man who is a Christian begins to act in ways that would not be expected of a Christian, he does not become a ‘cultural atheist’ or a ‘cultural agnostic.’ We call him a ‘bad Christian’ or a ‘morally inconsistent Christian.’ But he is a Christian nonetheless. To quote C.S. Lewis, “it is much clearer to say he is a bad Christian than to say he is not a Christian.”2 The point is not to pass judgment on his moral character. It is to retain the essence of what makes him Christian in the first place.

Every Christian must understand this. It is not just a matter of semantics, because the thing that makes someone a Christian is neither upbringing, geography, personal preference, former allegiances, or even good deeds. This point will become clearer as we move to discuss the second problem.

Unlike the first problem which seems like a superficial issue of nomenclature, the second is a deeper problem. It is an issue of the heart, a personal issue, and that is: the issue of denying the Christian faith. I have nothing against anyone who, after wrestling with their faith, concluded that it deserved to be abandoned. I also did that. But it is a spectacular thing to behold a person who is indifferent to, or who flatly rejects, the core belief that birthed Christian culture, to then publicly identify themselves as a cultural adherent either because they appreciate the behaviours and ethics which characterize a Christian life or because they partake in the celebrations and remembrance rituals that mark Christian holidays.

Culture starts with an idea, and an idea originates in the mind of a person. The irony of Cultural Christianity is that those who describe themselves as such do not seem to be aware that Christian culture traces back in history to one person. Not an imaginary figure, but an actual person who physically walked on the surface of the earth — Jesus Christ. Even if they appreciate this fact, they appear unwilling, by virtue of their unbelief, to acknowledge this person for who he is and for what he did.

Christian culture is contingent on who Jesus is and what he did. It is the profound implications of his life, death and resurrection that made the early believers begin to think and act in ways that would later make them known as Christians. They believed in Jesus. Their faith in him and their adherence to his words engendered a certain way of living — a culture. Doubting him or rejecting the fact of who he is, but then moving to associate yourself with his legacy, indicates that you are not clear in your mind about what you believe.

The first and second problems lead to the third, a societal problem, which is the widespread disregard for the Christian faith. Atheism, and its slightly less malignant cousin agnosticism, both lead to a moral value system that is based on personal choice. Not based on the recognition of a superior transcendent authority, but based on personal choice. If atheists and agnostics can describe themselves as ‘Cultural Christians,’ and they are, at the same time, free to select and change values as one would select food and drink from a restaurant menu, is it any wonder why Christianity is not taken seriously in our world today?

Certainly, it would be unfair to suggest that atheists and agnostics are the only ones responsible for every reputational damage Christianity has suffered in the world. Indeed, Christians too are guilty. I, for instance, have often been a bad example of what it means to be a Christian. But there is an important difference, and it is not the fact that my conscience is pinched in moments of moral failure — after all, anyone who is not a psychopath is capable of feeling depressed from a guilty conscience.

Rather, the difference is in the fact that I know I must repent by submitting myself again, and again, to God’s divine authority. I know I can not bend God’s laws to suit my preferred way of living. I know if I decide to start living by my own rules, it would be tantamount to raising my middle finger to his face. I acknowledge him as the Almighty God. I accept him as my Lord and Saviour. I believe that he was divinely conceived, that he was wrongly executed for my sake, and that he miraculously came back to life, after three days dead. This is what it means to be a Cultural Christian, if we are to accept that such a description should continue to exist.

It is not a badge or a sticker that can be worn and removed on a whim. It is an identity that is underlined by the shameless recognition of, belief in, and submission to the person and power of our Lord Jesus Christ. There may be no brownie points for being an outspoken, unabashed Christian, but it certainly does you no good — on a personal level — to appropriate Christianity for identity purposes only.

“I see pastors on TV who claim they can perform miracles by laying hands on people. There was one I saw the other day where the pastor laid hands on a man who was supposedly blind from birth. The pastor laid hands on him, and then the pastor asked him a question to confirm his healing. The pastor asked: ‘What colour is this?’ To my great astonishment the man responded: ‘Red!’ Now my question to you all is this:

How did a man who has never seen colour in his life know how to identify the colour red? Tell me, how does a person who was supposedly born deaf instantly respond when someone calls out their name? Do you not know that language depends on the working of the senses? That the ability to comprehend speech, or colour, is a skill that develops from the time a person is born? If that man’s vision was impaired from birth, as that pastor claimed, then I would expect his newfound abilities to be rudimentary at best.”

I remember scanning the room and seeing disillusionment on the faces of the Christian students I knew in class. It was a large pill to swallow. In fairness to the professor, I was also skeptical of public miracle performances by celebrity pastors. For me, it was more of an unconscious distrust than an intellectual objection. There was a part of me that wanted miracles like those to be true, but another part of me felt suspicious of coordinated quackery. In retrospect, his lecture hit another nail in the coffin of my withering faith in God at that time.

In my earliest days as a medical student, I strongly identified as a Christian. I did the usual Christian things like go to church and attend campus fellowship. But as the years passed, I noticed that I was increasingly becoming agnostic. I had many troubling questions that regular sermons and Bible studies did not address. Questions about creation, sin, faith, redemption and more.

I did not go full blown atheist because I could not disprove, for myself, the existence of God. But I was also at a point where I could not sufficiently demonstrate the proof, or need, for God in my own life. Suffice to say I could no longer justify keeping up my usual Christian habits just to continue appearing Christian. So when I left medical school, I stopped. Without any announcement, I just stopped.

Many Christians have been in a similar position at one time or another. Feeling stuck in a limbo of doubt and, worse, being patronized by other Christians who attempt to provide answers they really don’t have. As a result, said Christians find themselves torn between four different options:

1. Become agnostic

2. Embrace atheism

3. Pursue faith with intellectual honesty

4. Remain content with dubious Christianity

I call this the Christian quadrilemma. Each one is a path a Christian might consciously choose or unconsciously drift into. For a few years I drifted along Path 1, but I ran into some issues. The summary of it was that agnosticism did not satisfy me. It felt like a form of escapism. My approach to being agnostic could be summed up in this statement: “I am not sure if God exists, but whether or not it is true, I choose not to be bothered.”

Ultimately, I was not able to maintain this indifference. I was trying to organize my life around this detachment but it led to moments of moral conflict. I found that agnosticism made my character inconsistent because my choices were determined by what was expedient. In the end, I had to accept that living a life where your convictions change for the sake of what is convenient is not properly genuine.

Path 2 was a tempting option. Perhaps because it was, and still is, the favoured philosophy among the supposedly intelligent. But I never went this far for two reasons:

First, if agnosticism was an ambivalent path to tread, atheism, to me, was the dead end of that street. Second, and more importantly, being an atheist required me to start from a position that was clearly untenable. I saw a serious logical problem with the belief that a thing can emerge from nothing. On a scale of things that made sense, it objectively ranked lower than the chance that all things emerged from Something. And the famous “big bang” could not be the Something because it does not answer the question of a cause that is itself uncaused.

I figured, if I were to make atheism the foundation of my entire worldview, I could not possibly justify it. Such a starting point requires even the most rational atheist to be a fool incognito — and I have yet to meet an atheist who is honest enough to admit that.

If Path 1 was unsatisfying and 2 was illogical, I was left with 3 and 4. Let me jump to 4 and finish with 3. As I mentioned earlier, the thing that triggers this quadrilemma is the poverty of useful answers to serious questions. Mainstream Christianity, or should I say, Christianity as practiced in the standard church setting does not do a good job at asking or answering questions.

Take, for instance, the pastor that my ENT professor spoke about. If he were asked to explain how prior perception of colour was not necessary for the healed person to correctly identify colour, I doubt he would be able to come up with an adequate response. However, there are Christians who are content to not be offered any such explanations. For them, it is enough that a once blind man was afterwards able to see. I have known a great many Christians who fall into this category, and I can understand why the world is frustrated by them.

Path 3 is the hardest choice. Because 1, 2 and 4 share something in common. Being unbothered, irreligious, or complacent requires no effort. Some might want to argue that atheism requires critical thinking. It doesn’t. For something as personal as deciding what to believe, anyone can choose atheism and go to bed. Trying to openly reason your way out of a flawed premise is not effort. It is insanity.

The only real effort that atheists make is to disparage belief in God — which is an optional thing to do. Others might want to argue that they have explored the possibility of God to the fullest extent and that they came up short. I respect the striving, but I would urge them not to resign. Because if they are not yet dead, then there is yet something to be discovered.

Pursuing faith with intellectual honesty is hard work. Because you are navigating your way to the Something — say God, or Truth — and you are questioning your judgement as you go along. You do not want to lie to yourself. At times you find things that make sense, other times you find things that don’t. What I have noticed is that the answers eventually come to you, if you don’t stop searching.

Do not make the mistake of thinking you can reason your way to God. No one can. But God will find you if you are willing to have faith.

Personally, I take the claims of miracle-working pastors with a pinch of salt. But I also think it is important to seriously consider the proposition that God is real. Not for the sake of believing miracles or converting to a particular religion. But because the more you consider it, the more you find that it is, actually, true.

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