CHAPTER 1

What's Wrong with Me?

I could take you back to the very place where I lostmy faith in God. I was 14 years old.

At Prospect High School in Mount Prospect,Illinois, the biology classroom was on the third floorin the northwest corner of the building. I was sittingin the second row from the windows, thirdchair from the front, when I first learned about Darwin'stheory of evolution.

REVOLUTIONIZED BYEVOLUTION

This was revolutionary to me! Our teacherexplained that life originated millions of years agowhen chemicals randomly reacted with each otherin a warm ocean on the primordial earth. Then,through a process of survival of the fittest and naturalselection, life forms gained in complexity.Eventually, human beings emerged from the same family treeas apes.

Although the teacher didn't address this aspect of evolution,its biggest implication was obvious to me: If evolutionexplains the origin and development of life, then God was outof a job! What did we need God for? Life was just the naturalresult of the random interaction of chemicals.To my mind, this was great news! Finally, here was arational basis for atheism. If evolution explains life, then thefirst chapters of the Bible must be mythology or wishfulthinking. And if that were true of the first chapters, why notthe rest? Jesus could not have been God. Miracles aren't possible;they're just the attempts by pre-scientific people tomake sense out of what they couldn't understand but whichnow science can explain.

For the first time, I had a rational reason to abandonChristianity.

BORED BY RELIGION

Not that I'd ever really been a Christian.

My parents believed in God and had done their best to tryto spark spiritual interest in me. When I was a kid, theybrought me to a Protestant church, where I would struggle tostay awake during the 20-minute sermons. I didn't understandthe rituals, I couldn't relate to the organ music, and I quicklyconcluded that religion was a waste of an otherwise perfectlygood Sunday.

When I was in junior high, my parents enrolled me in confirmationclass. This meant that one day a week after school Iwas forced to sit in the church's airless basement and gothrough a series of classes.

I can't recall learning much about the Bible—or aboutJesus, for that matter. Mostly, I remember having to memorizethings like the Ten Commandments and then stand and recitethem. Nobody knew them well; we sort of bluffed our waythrough as the pastor would prompt us. It was mind-numbinglydull. I don't remember anything that I was forced to commit tomemory back then, although I do have vivid memories of thepastor lecturing us and telling us sternly that we didn't haveenough "diligence." I didn't even know what that was, butapparently we were bad for not having it.

GRADUATING FROM CHURCH

When the time came to be formally confirmed and made amember of the church, we were told in advance the kind ofquestions we would be asked so that we'd know the answers.I didn't want to go through with this because, if I had any faithin God at the time, it was hanging by a slender thread. To me,God was irrelevant, mysterious, and a stern disciplinarian who,if he existed, was probably mad that I lacked "diligence."

On the other hand, I wasn't too excited about the idea ofstanding up to my parents and saying, "No thanks, I'm notinterested in being confirmed, because I think your God isprobably just a fairy tale." My dad would have gone ballisticand my mom would have freaked out. I didn't need that. Ifthere were no God, then what would be the harm in goingthrough some meaningless ritual?

So I went through the confirmation ceremony. Afterward,we got a stack of pre-printed envelopes so we could give moneyto the church. That, I figured, was probably what was reallybehind the whole confirmation scam—and probably behindall of organized religion. But confirmation had its advantages:I figured that my confirmation ceremony was actually my graduationceremony—I had graduated from church. Now I wason my own. My parents stopped dragging me to church on Sundays,and I was happy to sleep late. I had done the religiondrill. Time to party!

LOOKING FOR LOVE

After that day in biology class, I had even more reason toparty. After all, I'd figured out that God did not exist. And thatmeant I was not accountable to him. I would not have to standbefore him someday and be judged. I was free to live accordingto my rules, not his dusty commandments that I had beenforce-fed in confirmation class. To me, all of this meant thatnobody else really mattered unless they made me happy.

But there was someone who mattered—and who made mehappy. Her name was Leslie, and we met when we were 14years old. On the day we met, Leslie went home and told hermother, "I've met the boy I'm going to marry!"

Her mother was condescending. "Sure, you did," she said.But Leslie didn't have any doubts, and neither did I.

We dated on and off during high school, and after I lefthome to attend the University of Missouri, we maintained ourrelationship through the mail. We became convinced that therewas nobody else we would ever be happy with. Within a year,Leslie moved down to Missouri, and we got engaged. Wedecided to get married in a church because ... well, that'swhere people get married, isn't it?

Besides, Leslie wasn't hostile toward God, as I was. Shewasn't opposed to religion, especially for other people. For herself,though, God was just another topic she had never takenthe time to seriously explore.

LIVING IN HIGH GEAR

After I finished college, we moved to a high-rise apartmentnot far from Tribune Tower in downtown Chicago. Leslie wasbusy with her banking career. I was beginning to climb theladder at the Chicago Tribune, where my internship had led toa permanent job as a reporter.

That's when my life power-shifted into high gear. If I hada god at that time, it was my career. I loved seeing my name inprint, and I thrived on the cutthroat environment, the adrenalinerush of deadlines, and the get-the-story-at-any-costmentality.

I was doing what I had always dreamed of: travelingaround the country; doing radio and TV interview shows; writinga book; winning awards. I had made it! I was on the fasttrack to the top of my profession, and I wasn't even 30 yearsold.

WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?

The power I had was better than any high I could get offdrugs or alcohol. There were times when I used that power tohelp people. I remember doing a Thanksgiving Day featureabout a poor family on Chicago's West Side. The two young sistersdidn't even have a coat, and only one sweater for the twoof them. During the biting Chicago winter, one little girl wouldwear the sweater halfway to school, then the other would wearit the rest of the distance.

After my article appeared, big-hearted people from aroundthe city showered the family with gifts and money. I went backto visit them on Christmas Eve and found their home overflowingwith presents—and their closet so stuffed that itlooked like the coat department at Nordstrom's. And all, I toldmyself, because of my article.

But after a while, I noticed that I really didn't care aboutother people. I once interviewed a grieving woman whoseyoung daughter had been raped and murdered. As she pouredout her pain, I was thinking, "Wow! These are great quotes!And I'm the only reporter who's got them!" I didn't care abouther daughter or her despair; I was after a front-page byline andanother bonus from the boss.

Other people noticed my hardening heart. Once I covereda trial in which a teenager testified how a gang had lined uphim, his brother, and a friend against a wall and then, one byone, shot them point-blank in the head. The two others diedinstantly; somehow, this teenager had survived. At least, hesurvived long enough to point out the killer in court. Accordingto a doctor's testimony, it was only a matter of time beforethe witness himself would die from his injuries.

After the trial was over, the prosecutor let me interview theteenager for a feature story. I was excited—I knew I had afront-page exclusive. I was so stoked about beating the competitionto the story that I had a big grin on my face as Ipumped the kid for information.

In the middle of the interview, the prosecutor pulled measide and said, angrily, "Strobel, what's wrong with you? Thiskid watched his brother and his friend get blown away, he'sprobably going to die himself, and you're interviewing him likeyou're a comedian or something."

His words haunted me for a long time. What was wrongwith me? Why didn't I care about that kid or his murderedfriends? Why didn't I empathize with the woman whose daughterhad been murdered? Why did I only care about myself andmy career? And worst of all, why didn't all my success satisfyme? Why did I always want more?

MAN IN THE MIRROR

But it wasn't my secret dissatisfaction that prompted meto look into the claims of Christianity. It was my wife.

Sometimes I hear Christians say that unbelievers can'thave a happy marriage because they don't know what true loveis. Well, we knew enough about it to be pretty fulfilled. Wewere best friends, living an exhilarating life, and for the mostpart didn't have any worries. This is how I picture our life backthen: It was as if Leslie and I were driving through life in aconvertible sports car, laughing and joking, totally carefreeand happy.

So I was stunned when Leslie announced that she hadbecome a Christian. I rolled my eyes and braced for the worst.I felt like the victim of some kind of scam. I had married oneLeslie—the fun Leslie, the carefree Leslie, the risk-takingLeslie—and now I was afraid she was going to turn into somesort of sexually repressed prude who would trade our upwardlymobile lifestyle for all-night prayer meetings and volunteerwork in grimy soup kitchens.

Instead I was pleasantly surprised—even fascinated—bythe changes in her character, her integrity, and her personalconfidence. At the same time, the more Leslie changed in positiveways, the more obvious it became that my own life andrelationships were messed up. It was as if Leslie were holdingup a mirror and I was seeing myself as I really was—and Ididn't like the picture.

EXAMINING THE EVIDENCE

What finally brought me to faith in God was truth. I was ajournalist. I had legal training from Yale Law School. I knewhow to investigate a case and how to sift the evidence. And Iknew how to face facts. If the evidence of history establishedconvincingly that Jesus is who he claimed to be—the one-and-onlySon of God—then I would have no choice but to followhim. My fruitless pursuit of happiness changed into a relentlesspursuit of truth. That's what fueled my investigation intothe evidence about Christ.

The rest of this book retraces that investigation. Of course,the questions I asked and the evidence I uncovered didn'talways follow a logical, step-by-step progression. I'd look intoone aspect of Christianity, then another and another, thenmaybe return with new questions to the first issue. For 21months I committed myself to exploring the case for andagainst Christ with an open mind. And that's all I ask of you:Start with an open mind, and see where the evidence leadsyou.

CHAPTER 2

Did Jesus ReallyThink He Was God?

Imagine that one morning as you poured yourself abowl of Wheaties, a game ticket fell out of the box.Looking at it, you realized that you were the luckywinner of an all-expense-paid vacation to Hawaii!

Now, less than three weeks later, you're suitedup and ready to take on the Pacific surf. Since youdidn't happen to carry a surfboard with you on theplane, you stroll over to a little rental shack on thebeach to check out a board.

Ahead of you in line are two guys trying toexplain why they should get their deposits backeven though they failed to return their surfboards.

"It was an act of nature, man," says the firstguy. "This monster wave came and swept the boardright out from under me. By the time I got my headabove water, the board was out of sight. By now it'sprobably halfway to Hong Kong."

Then the second guy offers his excuse. "I didn't lose myboard. But just as I was bringing it back, Keanu Reevesstopped me and said he needed it for a stunt in some newaction film he's making. I figured it would be good publicity foryour surf shop, so I let him have it. I'm sure he'll return it whenhe's done."

Now, the surf shop clerk, who wasn't born yesterday, knowsa scam when he sees one. He figures that these guys haveripped off his boards and have the gall to try to get theirdeposits back besides. It shouldn't be too hard to check up onthe Keanu Reeves story. A few phone calls will reveal whetherhe's on the island shooting a new movie. If he's not, the customerhas been caught in a lie and the shop can prosecute. Arunaway wave, now—that's going to be a little harder to confirmor disprove.

When I decided to test the claims of Christianity, right offthe bat I figured that Christians had made a tactical error.Other religions believe in all kinds of invisible gods—sort oflike the monster wave story—and that's kind of hard to pindown one way or the other. But Christians were basing theirreligion on the alleged teachings and miracles of someone theyclaim is an actual historical person—Jesus Christ—who, theysay, is God.

This struck me as a major mistake. If Jesus really lived,he would have left behind some historical evidence. I couldn'tcall him up the way you could phone Keanu Reeves' agent,but if he really lived, then I ought to be able to find some informationon him. I figured all that I needed to do was dig out thehistorical truth about Jesus. It would reveal that he was a niceman, maybe a very moral person and excellent teacher—butcertainly not a god.

Frankly, I was pretty sure that Jesus himself would agreewith me. The real Jesus, I was confident, would roll over in hisgrave if he knew people were worshiping him. I hadn't reallystudied Jesus' teachings, but I doubted that he had everclaimed to be anything more than a traveling teacher and anoccasional rabble-rouser.

WHO DID JESUS SAY HE WAS?

A lot of the information we have about Jesus comes fromthe Bible. That's a problem right there, because why shouldwe believe that the Bible is an accurate source of information?So I spent a lot of time investigating the accuracy of theBible—especially the New Testament, which is where most ofthe information about Jesus is. Chapters 5 and 6 retrace thatinvestigation.

Whether you believe the Bible is reliable or not, there's nodenying that Christians consider the Bible their sourcebookfor what they believe about Jesus. I suspected that Christianshad misread the whole thing—that other people had madeclaims for Jesus that Jesus himself would never back up. If Icould demonstrate from the Bible itself that Jesus neverclaimed to be God, then I wouldn't have to go any further.

The gospel of John in the New Testament opens with amajestic claim that Jesus, here called "the Word," is God.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word waswith God, and the Word was God. He was with Godin the beginning. Through him all things weremade; without him nothing was made that hasbeen made.... The Word became flesh and madehis dwelling among us. We have seen his glory,the glory of the One and Only, who came from theFather, full of grace and truth.

John 1:1–3, 14, NIV

As I read those claims (made, you'll notice, by one of Jesus'followers, not by Jesus himself), I wondered how Jesus wouldrespond. Would he say, "Whoa! John got me all wrong?" Or wouldhe nod approvingly and say, "Yep, I'm all that—and more"?

"CALL ME CHRIST"

I found one account of what Jesus said about himself inanother New Testament book, the gospel of Matthew. In a privatemeeting, Jesus asked his disciples, "Who do you say Iam?" Peter answered, "You're the Christ, the Messiah, the Sonof the living God." Jesus' response? "God bless you, Simon,son of Jonah! You didn't get that answer out of books or fromteachers. My Father in heaven, God himself, let you in on thissecret of who I really am" (Matthew 16:15–17, The Message).