Not long ago, I was listening to a collection of interviews and commentaries on the subject of spirituality in the West. Some of those interviewed were authors of best-selling books on various topics of religion and spirituality; others were interviewed simply as passersby on the street. “Who is God?” the interviewers asked repeatedly. “What does it mean to be a spiritual person?” The answers were as diverse as the notes in a concerto, but the composition was at best one of chaos and contradiction, perhaps more accurately described as a “symphony” in which everyone is encouraged to play privately, but in the same place, at the same time, the sounds or noise of their own choosing. I came to the end and could only sigh: “How can anyone muddle through such a racket?”

The current state and practice of popular spirituality in West at times brings to mind words spoken by the prophet Jeremiah. It is a “discipline of delusion” to chase after spiritually as if it were a matter of preference and not a matter pertaining to what is real. “They are altogether stupid and foolish,” writes Jeremiah, “In their discipline of delusion—their idol is wood” (10:8).

Millions and millions of people confess to believe in God, to know God, to consider God in some way. But does our confession of God in these moments pertain to what is real or true? Can the starting point of such knowledge begin anywhere else? In the book of Romans, Paul writes of those who follow God not as God but as something less—something corrupted at their own hands—and so end up chasing darkness. He writes, “For even though they knew God… they became futile in their speculations… They exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshiped and served created things rather than the Creator.”(1)

Who is it we say that we know? Do our speculations lead us astray or lead us closer to the truth of God? Are they the sort of speculations we can hold before scenes of life and death? The apostle Paul describes the God he knows as one “who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were” (Romans 4:17). This is not his way of relegating our knowledge of God as something important only for the next life. On the contrary, the apostle wants us to see the resounding hope of a God who can hold life and death in a way that our delusional speculations of God cannot.

Death indeed has a way of questioning our knowledge of God. In death we are reminded—or startled to the memory—of God’s status in life. Is it sovereignty or simply therapeutic? We are reminded similarly of life’s most significant answers. Why do I believe this? Who is this I say I believe in and what does that mean? In the midst of such questions we are alert to the richest sounds of belief: Do I believe because I have encountered the goodness of God or because I want God to bring me good things? “God is convenient,” or “God wants me to be happy” are very different songs than “God has come near” or “God has become one of us.” As good theology is the best answer to life’s crises, death is a plea to the importance of sound hope. In the words of the prophet Isaiah: “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you” (Isaiah 26:3). When life is shaken, when the misleading sounds of our own preferences fall flat, we find that our knowledge of God is either a resounding consolation or a blaring delusion.

I attended an Easter morning service more than a decade ago that continues to resonate in mind. It was held in a cemetery. Surrounded by silent stones, each one marking a life put to rest, with the sting of a loved one’s death still fresh in my mind, we sang:

Lives again our glorious King,

Where, O death, is now thy sting?

Once He died our souls to save,

Where thy victory, O grave?

Soar we now where Christ hath led,

Following our exalted Head,

Made like Him, like Him we rise,

Ours the cross, the grave, the skies.

In the vicarious humanity of the risen Christ, death and is swallowed up in victory for life. Our human mediator has won, and humanity shall win. The resounding consolation of knowing Christ is one that can hold the world in hope and make us long for the kingdom to come.

Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.