Functional Atheism
When We Act Like God Is Not In Command
We often affirm God’s sovereignty in worship, yet live as if He’s absent from our daily routines. This contradiction—professing divine governance while relying on our own orchestration reveals a subtle but pervasive posture known as functional atheism. It’s not a denial of God’s existence, but a practical disregard for His involvement in the particulars of our lives. As Marva Dawn and A. W. Tozer have warned, this mindset treats God as irrelevant or insufficient, and entertains unworthy conceptions of His nature.
Functional atheism manifests in various ways. We overplan, trusting our calendars more than Scripture, forgetting that “unless the LORD builds the house, those who build it labor in vain” (Psalm 127:1). We chase perfection, fearing that flaws diminish our worth, ignoring the promise that God’s power is made perfect in weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). We worry excessively, believing outcomes depend solely on our effort, despite Jesus’ reminder that “sufficient for the day is its own trouble” (Matthew 6:34). We manipulate relationships to secure safety, rather than resting in the truth that “perfect love casts out fear” (1 John 4:18).
These behaviors erect rival altars in our hearts, displacing exclusive trust in God. John Calvin described the human heart as a perpetual forge of idols, and Scripture calls us to return to the One who has redeemed us (Isaiah 44:22). The path back begins with confession: “Lord, I have acted as if You are not enough.” The Spirit invites us to cast our cares on Him, because He cares for us (1 Peter 5:7). The remedy is not a technique but surrender, praying within God’s will, rejoicing amid unraveling, and trusting the unseen hands that hold all things together.
This surrender transforms lip-service into lived faith, panic into peace, and idolatry into adoration. We release our grip on the details, remembering that the Creator of galaxies governs faithfully. Job, stripped of everything, declared, “Though he slay me, I will hope in him” (Job 13:15). In his loss, his worship deepened.
Psalm 46 offers a piercing invitation: “Be still, and know that I am God.” Stillness here is not passive; it’s a defiant peace in the face of chaos. The psalm’s context is upheaval, mountains crumbling, seas roaring, nations tottering. Yet amid the tumult, God’s voice calls us to cease striving and remember who He is. Our calm doesn’t depend on circumstances but on the presence of the Sovereign One. “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble” (Psalm 46:1). The psalmist doesn’t deny the chaos; he defies it with confidence in God’s character.
Jesus echoes this call to trust in Matthew 6. On a hillside in Galilee, He addresses our anxious hearts: “Do not be anxious about your life.” The Greek word merimnaō suggests a divided mind, distracted by worry. Jesus redirects our gaze to creation, birds fed by the Father’s care, lilies clothed in splendor beyond Solomon’s robes. If God tends to grass that withers, how much more will He provide for His children? He doesn’t promise prosperity, but He assures us of intimate awareness: “Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all.” Trust shifts our focus from securing outcomes to seeking the kingdom, confident that all else will be added.
Even in storms, Jesus models peace. While His disciples panic, He sleeps. Anxiety distorts prayer; trust reorients it toward the Giver. Mary sat at Jesus’ feet while Martha fretted, one chose the better portion. We are invited to do the same: name our worries, speak to the Father, observe creation, and whisper our trust. Birds testify, lilies illustrate, and children inherit.
Romans 8 crescendos with comfort rooted in sovereignty. Amid groaning, Paul declares that “all things work together for good” for those who love God. This isn’t ease, it’s endurance. God weaves every thread, even bitter ones, into a tapestry of transformation. The good He promises is conformity to Christ’s image, forged through adversity. The chapter ends with triumphant assurance: divine alliance, inseparable love, and victory born from apparent defeat. God doesn’t generate chaos, but He governs through it. He collects our tears, threads our stories, and redeems our suffering.
Ultimately, the cure for functional atheism is not control but trust. We surrender our need to orchestrate and rest in the One who reigns. From panic to peace, from striving to stillness, we are invited to live as though God is truly sovereign—because He is.
QUESTIONS
Where in my daily life do I act as if God is absent or uninterested, especially in my planning, relationships, or anxieties?
What fears or desires tempt me to take control rather than surrender to God’s sovereignty?
How might I practice “being still” today; not as passivity, but as active trust in God’s character and care?