Faith and Reason Are Not Enemies
When I first started teaching apologetics to new believers, I discovered how easily faith conversations can drift into debates. There were a few skeptics in the room who thought we were more focused on “winning” than on truly listening. That experience humbled me. It taught me that apologetics, when done right, is not about conquering someone’s worldview but about finding common ground. An open dialogue between minds that genuinely seek truth.
For me, apologetics is an act of love. It’s a pursuit of coherence, of beauty, and of understanding the deepest question humanity has ever asked: Why are we here?
To defend the faith isn’t to argue; it’s to marvel. It’s to look around at this world, the laughter of a child, the smell of coffee in the morning, the sound of waves rolling on the shore, the feeling of crisp air during a December night beside the glow of a Christmas tree and say, this means something.
Apologetics is not cold philosophy; it’s alive with awe. To wake up each morning, to see the sunrise, to feel hunger and fulfillment, love and longing, these are not just biological impulses. They are existential invitations to recognize the goodness of existence itself. Behind every sensation of joy or nostalgia lies a question that reason alone can’t satisfy: Why does anything exist at all?
That is where the cosmological argument begins.
The Cosmological Argument: Everything That Begins Has a Cause
The cosmological argument starts with a simple but profound truth:
- Everything that begins to exist has a cause.
- The universe began to exist.
- Therefore, the universe has a cause.
This is not theology at first — it’s logic. It’s the foundation of all science and philosophy. Every effect points to a cause. Nothing, absolutely nothing, comes from nothing.
When we observe the world through the lens of cosmology, astronomy, or physics, we find overwhelming evidence that the universe had a definite beginning. The universe is expanding. Galaxies are moving away from each other at increasing speed. The very fabric of space-time is stretching — a phenomenon first discovered by Edwin Hubble in the 1920s and still confirmed today.
This expansion points backward to a singular moment of origin — the Big Bang — when all matter, energy, space, and even time itself came into being. The universe isn’t static or eternal; it’s contingent and finite.
That means it began to exist. And everything that begins to exist must have a cause.
So what caused the universe? It cannot be a material cause, because matter itself came into existence at the Big Bang. It must be something beyond space, time, matter, and energy, something timeless, immaterial, powerful, and personal.
That’s the heart of the argument: the uncaused cause.
Why Infinite Regress Fails
I’ve heard many people say, “Well, maybe there’s an infinite chain of universes — one causing the next forever.”
But infinite regress doesn’t solve the problem; it just postpones it.
If every cause needs another cause before it, then you never actually arrive at a first cause. It’s like trying to explain how a series of falling dominoes started by saying, “There’s an infinite number of dominoes falling forever.” But that doesn’t explain why they started falling at all.
Imagine you’re standing at a toll booth, waiting for someone to hand you a ticket so you can go through. But that person can’t give it to you until someone gives it to them, and that continues infinitely backward. You’d be waiting forever. You’d never get your ticket, and you’d never move forward.
That’s infinite regress — and it fails because nothing would ever begin. Something must exist without dependency, something that doesn’t begin but just is.
And that something, I believe, is God.
God is not part of the causal chain. He’s not a piece of the universe that requires explanation — He’s the foundation of all explanations. He’s the eternal, self-existent being who created time itself.
He’s not the first domino. He’s the ground of being — the One who made the dominoes possible in the first place.
From the Midwest Sky to the Mind of God
When I was a kid, I used to lie on the grass in my backyard and stare at the night sky. I grew up in the Midwest, where the stars shone brightly against the darkness — not dimmed by city lights like they are today. We had a wide-open field near our home that doubled as a baseball diamond, and on winter nights, I’d just stand there, looking up at that infinite canvas of light.
I wasn’t raised in a particularly religious home. We went to Catholic church maybe two or three times a year, mostly around the holidays. God, to me, was more of an abstract idea than a person. But on those nights, something changed. I remember talking with my friends and saying, “Wow, we’ll live with God forever.” I didn’t know theology but I knew wonder.
That field was my safe place. The chirping of crickets and frogs near the lake, the smell of cold air, the peace of home — it all felt sacred. I’d whisper prayers into the night sky, not knowing Scripture, yet knowing deep down that Someone was listening. Looking back, I think God met me in that quiet curiosity, planting seeds of faith long before I ever opened a Bible.
Hiking Toward Holiness
Years later, I had the privilege of serving alongside Pastor Paul in ministry. We co-led the high school and college ministries together, as well as a young adult group. He was a mentor, a friend, and one of the wisest men I’ve ever known.
We’d take students hiking in the mountains of Kentucky, and those were holy moments. No phones. No Wi-Fi. Just creation, conversation, and the sound of boots crunching on dirt trails. The stillness of the forest had a healing rhythm to it and you could feel your soul and even your body begin to rejuvenate.
Paul had a gift for making people feel seen. He lived to serve, thought of others more highly than himself, and somehow balanced humor and holiness with perfect ease. He’d often say, “I’m proud of what God’s doing in your life. Keep up the good work.” Those words meant everything coming from a man like him, not just because he believed in me, but because he lived what he believed.
When he passed away suddenly, it was a blow I didn’t see coming. He was young, full of life, and constantly pointing others toward God. Losing him made me question why God would take someone doing so much good. Yet, even in that loss, I learned something vital: that the faith Paul modeled wasn’t about control or explanation. It was about trust. Even when life makes no sense, God’s character remains constant.
The Debate That Taught Me Empathy
One of my most formative moments in apologetics came at Indiana University Kokomo. I had been invited to debate a humanist in front of an audience on the existence of God. I remember pacing around my house the night before, nervously practicing my opening remarks word for word.
The debate itself was respectful, but challenging. My opponent raised thoughtful points about the problem of evil — asking how a good God could allow so much bloodshed in the Old Testament, and why nations that are less religious, like Denmark, seem to have lower crime rates. He suggested that human civilization was evolving morally without religion.
His points weren’t hostile — they were sincere, and I respected that. I didn’t feel attacked; I felt stretched. I realized apologetics isn’t just about defending truth — it’s about understanding the heart behind the questions people ask. That debate didn’t end in a “winner” or “loser.” It ended with me realizing that behind every intellectual argument is a personal story, a wound, or a worldview that deserves compassion.
That’s when I started to see that apologetics without empathy is just noise.
Faith and Science: One Voice, Two Languages
Years later, I discovered that my chemistry professor, a man who spoke the language of atoms and equations, was also a believer. I’ll never forget the day he explained the concept of molecular chirality, how the “handedness” of molecules determines whether life can exist. He smiled and said, “This is the fingerprint of God.”
That stuck with me. The same God who painted the stars in Indiana also designed the microscopic symmetry that sustains life. Science, rather than threatening faith, became for me an expression of God’s creative order.
Even the universe’s expansion, the very fact that it’s not collapsing or static — supports the truth that it had a beginning. The spacing of galaxies, the precision of physical laws, the fine-tuning of constants, all of it whispers of intelligent design.
Learning Gentleness Through Friendship
I’ve also had some of my most powerful apologetic moments outside of the church, through friendships with people of other faiths. Back in 2013–2015, when there was heightened fear surrounding radical Islam, one of my Muslim friends broke down in tears during a discussion. She felt different, isolated, and even intimidated for believing what she did.
I remember feeling the Holy Spirit remind me — this isn’t a time to prove, it’s a time to listen.
I told her she was safe with me. That simple reassurance opened the door for real conversation.
We didn’t agree on everything, she held her beliefs, and I held mine, but we met in a shared reverence for something greater than ourselves. That’s where interfaith dialogue matters. I’ve had similar conversations with Hindu friends and even atheists who, while rejecting a deity, still longed for meaning in the collective human experience.
Some of those old debate partners have softened over the years. One man I used to go back and forth with fiercely on social media recently posted something that made me think, Maybe his heart is opening. Sometimes, God is still working long after we’ve stopped talking.
Reasoned Responses to Common Objections
Whenever I speak about the existence of God, one question always arises: “If everything has a cause, then who caused God?”
That’s a fair question. The cosmological argument doesn’t say that everything has a cause; it says that everything that begins to exist has a cause. God, by definition, never began to exist. He is eternal, outside of time and space — the uncaused cause.
Others propose that perhaps the universe simply came into being on its own, through “quantum fluctuations” or “spontaneous creation.” But this view still assumes the existence of energy, laws, and potential — all of which require explanation. Nothing can’t cause something.
Even the idea of infinite universes doesn’t solve the question. Infinity doesn’t explain why anything exists; it just multiplies the mystery. Something must exist necessarily, something that simply is. And that something, that necessary being, is God.
The Evidence of Order in Everyday Life
Real estate has taught me more about apologetics than I expected. On the surface, it’s a profession of paperwork, deadlines, and negotiations, but beneath it, it’s about trust, design, and timing.
A transaction only succeeds when every detail fits together: the contracts are signed, the inspection deadlines met, the finances approved, and the closing scheduled precisely. It’s orderly chaos. Yet, when it works, it’s beautiful.
The universe operates the same way — perfectly balanced laws holding everything together, from gravity to molecular bonds. It’s not randomness; it’s relationship. In both real estate and creation, order isn’t accidental — it’s intentional. When I see a complicated deal close against all odds, I often think, That’s how God works too — holding everything in place when it could so easily fall apart.
Doubt, Grief, and the Silent Teacher
There have been times when I’ve questioned God’s existence — not in theory, but in the quiet places of pain. When Pastor Paul died so suddenly, I couldn’t understand why God would take such a good man, such a servant-hearted leader. His death left a silence that sermons and theology couldn’t fill.
I’ve also wrestled with purpose, believing for years that I was meant for full-time ministry, only to find myself in real estate, wondering if I’d missed God’s calling. But over time, I’ve realized that God’s will isn’t confined to pulpits or pews. Ministry is wherever you carry His presence. In contracts, client meetings, or even difficult negotiations, I still represent the same truth I once preached from the stage: God is near, and His order underlies everything.
Trust hasn’t always come easily to me. I often feel I should be more mature by now — more consistent, more confident. But I’m learning that maturity in faith isn’t about never doubting; it’s about never giving up. It’s choosing to believe when answers don’t come quickly.
Why God Makes the Best Sense
After years of teaching, debating, reading, and living, I’ve come to this conviction:
Belief in God, the God of the Bible, is not just rational; it’s inevitable once you open your eyes to reality.
The cosmological argument explains why the universe exists.
Science reveals how it functions.
And the Gospel tells us who made it, why He made it, and what He’s doing to redeem it.
Without God, we’re left with an infinite regress of causes, a blind universe, and a morality built on preference. With God, existence itself becomes meaningful. Every sunrise is a signature. Every relationship is a reflection. Every question is an invitation.
The Heart Behind the Logic
When I teach apologetics now, I begin not with arguments but with awe. I think back to that baseball field in Indiana — the one by the lake where the stars stretched endlessly above. I remember being a kid, whispering prayers into the night air, not knowing doctrine, but knowing wonder.
And then I think of Pastor Paul, standing on a mountain trail, smiling as he said, “I’m proud of what God’s doing in your life.” He’s gone now, but the echo of his faith still guides me.
I think of the nervous energy before that IU debate — memorizing opening statements, facing questions that forced me to wrestle with the problem of evil and the nature of goodness. I think of my Muslim friend crying because she felt different, and how that moment taught me that love always precedes logic.
All these moments form one thread: a Creator who not only made the universe but meets us inside it — in the classroom, the courtroom, the quiet trail, and the crowded office.
The Beginning Points to a Beginner
The Big Bang may have marked the physical beginning of the universe, but for me, it also points to something personal: the voice of a Creator saying, “Let there be.”
That same voice still speaks — in Scripture, in conscience, in the beauty of creation, and in the whisper of the Holy Spirit within. The God who began all things still holds all things. He is both the uncaused cause and the unending love.
As I continue this journey of faith and reason, I no longer see apologetics as argumentation. It’s adoration. It’s standing under the stars, hearing the crickets, feeling the chill of the night air, and realizing that the One who made the galaxies also made me — and calls me by name.
“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands.” — Psalm 19:1
And if you listen closely enough, they’re still declaring it.
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