‘Til Death Do Us Part!

As an atheist who’s been married for nearly forty years — and a non-believer for more than twenty-five of them — I find it curious how often people of faith insist that a long marriage is impossible without God.

I walked out of church services for the last time roughly thirty years ago and never looked back. Yet my marriage didn’t unravel. It didn’t weaken. It didn’t quietly wait for divine glue to dry up and fail. It just… kept going.

Spend enough time on Christian social media, blogs, or magazines and a familiar refrain emerges: without Christianity, marriage is destined to fail. Without God, it’s “just a contract, not a covenant.” Without biblical morality, selfishness takes over. Without faith, endurance is either impossible or meaningless.

I’ve seen some version of this sentiment repeated countless times:

“Faith is the glue that holds a marriage together. Without it, non-believers are doomed.”

These statements are usually made by well-meaning people — often good people — but they reveal a narrow assumption: that human commitment, ethics, and perseverance only count if they’re backed by faith. Like artistry, compassion, or integrity, marriage is discounted unless it passes through a religious filter.

Here are four common claims that appear again and again.

1. Faith as the only legitimate foundation

“A marriage without Christ at the center is built on sand. It may look strong for a while, but when trials come, it will inevitably collapse.”

This framing treats faith not as a support, but the support. Longevity in non-Christian marriages is dismissed as temporary or illusory — strong only until the “real” test arrives.

2. Unbelievers lack the capacity for true covenant

“Non-believers can enter relationships, but they cannot enter covenant marriage as God designed it.”

Here, marriage itself is redefined so non-Christians are excluded by definition. If it lasts, it’s a fluke. If it fails, the explanation is built in.

3. Moral relativism guarantees failure

“When God is removed from marriage, each person becomes their own authority. That always leads to selfishness, conflict, and divorce.”

This assumes secular ethics can’t sustain long-term self-sacrifice — and that negotiation, compromise, or disagreement are signs of moral decay rather than normal human behavior.

4. Endurance without faith is impossible or meaningless

“Any marriage that lasts without Christ is driven by pride, fear, or convenience — not real love.”

Success itself is invalidated unless it’s spiritually motivated. Perseverance without faith doesn’t count.

⸻

To be fair, these modern claims aren’t coming from nowhere. Traditional Christianity does present marriage as something sustained by external authority, moral obligation, fixed roles, and theological meaning.

Scripture places marriage under divine authority (Genesis 2:24; Malachi 2:14; Matthew 19:6). It emphasizes duty over personal fulfillment (1 Corinthians 7; Luke 9:23; Ephesians 5). It assigns structured roles (Ephesians 5; 1 Corinthians 11). And it treats perseverance itself as a spiritual virtue (Romans 5; James 1).

I know this framework well. My wife and I were married under it.

Those scriptures were read aloud by a sincere minister. We stood before witnesses and accepted them in earnest. At the time, they were the foundation of our marriage.

And then — years later — we walked away from the faith.

Yet here we are.

We said “I do” in May of 1987. We’re closing in on forty years now.

We’ve lived through decades of laughter, love, half-baked ideas, boneheaded decisions, and the occasional self-inflicted disaster. We’ve built a life that people often admire — not because it’s perfect, but because it’s steady.

When new acquaintances hear how long we’ve been married, there’s usually a pause.

“Wow. What’s the secret?”

My answer always disappoints them.

There isn’t one.

Trust. Loyalty. Respect. Compromise. Laughter. Love. Everything else is noise.

And if I had to add one thing: marry your best friend. We do almost everything together, and that matters more than people realize.

Have we fought? Of course. Like cats and dogs — although we’ve owned both at the same time and they got along just fine. Maybe elephants and tigers. I don’t know. But we’ve fought, and we’ve always come back to the table.

One lesson I learned the hard way: make decisions together.

I’ve made a few enthusiastic solo decisions over the years — usually financial — that required significant cleanup. Jodi has a remarkable talent for calmly fixing what I energetically broke. Starting capital-intensive businesses. Buying cars without consultation. Jumping into investments with more confidence than wisdom.

Eventually, the lesson stuck.

Fail together if you must — but decide together.

New house. New town. New car. New coffee maker. Planting a tree in the front yard. Big things. Small things. Together.

My driving remains a point of contention.

I subscribe to a “drive it like you stole it” philosophy. Jodi subscribes to “slow down, you’re making me nervous.” She grips the door handle. I ease off the accelerator. We compromise — because that’s how long marriages work.

Longevity doesn’t come from stubbornness. It comes from adaptation.

So when I revisit the Christian claims, I’m left with a few simple questions.

If marriage without faith is doomed — why hasn’t ours collapsed?
If contracts are inferior to covenants — why do we honor our commitment?
If moral relativism leads to failure — why are we still here, decades later, with strong shared ethics and mutual respect?
And if forgiveness requires the Holy Spirit — how have we managed to forgive each other for nearly forty years without one? (I’m fairly certain nothing showed up at my baptism.)

So to those who insist faith is the only glue capable of holding a marriage together, I ask — sincerely — how do you reconcile that belief with the many long, loyal, successful marriages that exist entirely outside your framework?

We’ve built a good life. A steady one. A shared one.

And I look forward to growing old with her — holding hands, rocking gently into whatever comes next.

’Til death do us part.

And we meant it.