Author Fleming Rutledge tells about a time years ago when she was serving as pastor of a church in New York City. She says that during those days, she used to hang around with some people, “urbane literary types,” as she called them, “most of whom were somewhat disdainful of religion.” She remembers one man in particular.

When he discovered that Rutledge was a pastor, he made a confession to her. He confessed very sheepishly that he had done something behind his wife’s back. Apparently, his wife had long since banished every hint of religion from their household. “She held Christian faith in contempt,” says Rutledge. She regarded the faith as a “relic of a superstitious and unenlightened era. Attending church, of course, was out of the question.” The resulting impact on her husband was qu…