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In his 11 years attending St. Luke's Lutheran Church, Cedric Stratton has emerged as one of "the most faithful," said the Rev. Steven P. Schulte.
Stratton attends nearly every worship service and church event. He volunteers for nearly every work project. He offers help to sick parishioners. He brings his smooth tenor to the church choir.
When he noticed that worshippers were leaving right after Sunday service, he created an after-worship reception to get people socializing.
"He's there almost whenever the doors are open," said Schulte, who pastors the Thunderbolt church.
But according to the doctrine of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, Stratton may not be going to heaven.
Sure he's a good person.
But Stratton is an avowed atheist.
"I do not believe in a supreme being," Stratton writes in a seven-page, single-spaced essay on his beliefs, or lack thereof. "My rationale is entrenched in chaos theory."
Chaos theory almost requires a mathematical degree just to explain. Very generally, it relies on two main components.
The first is that processes that occur in the world around us - no matter how complex or apparently random they may be - rely upon an underlying order. The second component is the "butterfly effect," the idea that simple or small systems and events can cause complex behaviors or events.
Humans, Stratton believes, get no special treatment in this world than any other carbon-based organism.
"Is life as we know it the BE-ALL-END-ALL?" Cedric writes. "I have no problem with saying 'yes' to that one."
Schulte is aware of Stratton's atheist beliefs.
And Schulte knows some Christians may view his acceptance of the retired chemist as an affront to the faith.
But Schulte said he couldn't turn away a man so willing to act like a Christian.
"I would much rather have Cedric than a hundred church members who said they were Christian and didn't walk the walk," Schulte said. "Unless you practice what you believe, then you don't really believe."
While Lutheran doctrine mandates belief in Jesus as the only route to salvation, it also indicates that baptism isn't a ticket to heaven, Schulte said.
Besides, he said, everyone in the church loves Cedric.
"I'm fine with it," said fellow choir member Bernice McCall. "To me a person's faith is a matter between himself and God. And I'm too focused on my relationship to worry about anyone else's."
That willingness to accept differences is one reason Stratton is comfortable at St. Luke's.
"I won't say they don't follow the doctrine of the Lutheran Church, but they do things their own way."
Standing just over five feet tall with the constant cheery expression of an English gentleman, Stratton still retains the high British accent of his upbringing though he's lived in the United States since 1963.
Fellow churchgoers say he's modest, humble and extraordinarily kind.
Some might even describe his behavior as "Christian."
That wouldn't offend Stratton.
In fact, he responds sharply if you say he's not.
"I take offense to that," he said. "I'm Christian, in everything except theology."
For that and other philosophic matters, Stratton finds like-minded chatters with a local weekly discussion group called Philo Cafe.
Stratton said he developed his ideas and interest in the sciences as a schoolboy at Truro School in Cornwall, England.
Upon his graduation in 1950, Surrey County awarded him a full scholarship to a university of his choice.
He attended Nottingham University and completed his undergraduate degree in 1953. He later completed his master's degree in science and Ph.D. in chemistry at the University of London.
In 1963 he became a research fellow with the National Science Foundation at the University of Florida.
Two years later, Stratton joined what was then Armstrong State College as associate professor of chemistry.
After a few years in Savannah, he helped launch The Savannah Striders, a club for jogging enthusiasts. And he became the local contact for Mensa International, a social club for people whose IQ scores in the top 2 percent of the population.
In 1991, Stratton married a Lutheran woman who attended St. Luke's.
Stratton loved her voice, whether she was singing or just reading aloud. So he began attending the worship service for the pleasure of listening to her participate.
Soon, he found a project: cleaning up some mold growing on the ceiling.
Then, he learned that Schulte, then new to the congregation, was a recreational runner in need of some training.
Stratton began attending more events at St. Luke's. And the more he attended, the more he discovered needs - of the church and of its members - he could fulfill.
A few years ago, a member of the choir got into a car accident and needed physical therapy. Stratton was happy to drive her to her appointments.
When she insisted on paying him for his trouble, he told her what he really wanted was singing lessons. She said it was a deal. Stratton completed the lessons and soon joined the choir.
Stratton insists he's been on the receiving end of the church's kindness as well.
Once, after he had driven to Atlanta to visit his daughter and then catch a flight to England, he discovered he had left his passport at home.
It was a Sunday and his flight left at 10 a.m. the following day.
Stratton frantically called friends in Savannah looking for someone who may be en route to Atlanta. No one was.
So Schulte cancelled his Monday appointments and drove the passport to Atlanta, meeting Stratton at the airport.
Schulte howls with laughter at the memory.
"I got there with an hour to spare," Schulte said.
But then, many of the memories church members have created with Stratton go like that.
Since Stratton began attending St. Luke's regularly, the church's membership of about 50 has changed for the better, Schulte said. The congregation has become "more youthful acting" and "good-spirited."
"A large part of the credit goes to Cedric," Schulte said. "He's there. He does things for people and he doesn't want recognition."
But if Stratton doesn't believe in God and doesn't feel mandated to go to church, why does he attend?
"What I get from this church is an abiding feeling that we're all friends," said Stratton, who retired from Armstrong in 1993.
"My thinking is that these people are so great to be with, I don't care if I'm forced to live in hell for eternity," Stratton said.
"They're such nice folks, I had a wonderful time while I was here."
Stratton attends nearly every worship service and church event. He volunteers for nearly every work project. He offers help to sick parishioners. He brings his smooth tenor to the church choir.
When he noticed that worshippers were leaving right after Sunday service, he created an after-worship reception to get people socializing.
"He's there almost whenever the doors are open," said Schulte, who pastors the Thunderbolt church.
But according to the doctrine of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, Stratton may not be going to heaven.
Sure he's a good person.
But Stratton is an avowed atheist.
"I do not believe in a supreme being," Stratton writes in a seven-page, single-spaced essay on his beliefs, or lack thereof. "My rationale is entrenched in chaos theory."
Chaos theory almost requires a mathematical degree just to explain. Very generally, it relies on two main components.
The first is that processes that occur in the world around us - no matter how complex or apparently random they may be - rely upon an underlying order. The second component is the "butterfly effect," the idea that simple or small systems and events can cause complex behaviors or events.
Humans, Stratton believes, get no special treatment in this world than any other carbon-based organism.
"Is life as we know it the BE-ALL-END-ALL?" Cedric writes. "I have no problem with saying 'yes' to that one."
Schulte is aware of Stratton's atheist beliefs.
And Schulte knows some Christians may view his acceptance of the retired chemist as an affront to the faith.
But Schulte said he couldn't turn away a man so willing to act like a Christian.
"I would much rather have Cedric than a hundred church members who said they were Christian and didn't walk the walk," Schulte said. "Unless you practice what you believe, then you don't really believe."
While Lutheran doctrine mandates belief in Jesus as the only route to salvation, it also indicates that baptism isn't a ticket to heaven, Schulte said.
Besides, he said, everyone in the church loves Cedric.
"I'm fine with it," said fellow choir member Bernice McCall. "To me a person's faith is a matter between himself and God. And I'm too focused on my relationship to worry about anyone else's."
That willingness to accept differences is one reason Stratton is comfortable at St. Luke's.
"I won't say they don't follow the doctrine of the Lutheran Church, but they do things their own way."
Standing just over five feet tall with the constant cheery expression of an English gentleman, Stratton still retains the high British accent of his upbringing though he's lived in the United States since 1963.
Fellow churchgoers say he's modest, humble and extraordinarily kind.
Some might even describe his behavior as "Christian."
That wouldn't offend Stratton.
In fact, he responds sharply if you say he's not.
"I take offense to that," he said. "I'm Christian, in everything except theology."
For that and other philosophic matters, Stratton finds like-minded chatters with a local weekly discussion group called Philo Cafe.
Stratton said he developed his ideas and interest in the sciences as a schoolboy at Truro School in Cornwall, England.
Upon his graduation in 1950, Surrey County awarded him a full scholarship to a university of his choice.
He attended Nottingham University and completed his undergraduate degree in 1953. He later completed his master's degree in science and Ph.D. in chemistry at the University of London.
In 1963 he became a research fellow with the National Science Foundation at the University of Florida.
Two years later, Stratton joined what was then Armstrong State College as associate professor of chemistry.
After a few years in Savannah, he helped launch The Savannah Striders, a club for jogging enthusiasts. And he became the local contact for Mensa International, a social club for people whose IQ scores in the top 2 percent of the population.
In 1991, Stratton married a Lutheran woman who attended St. Luke's.
Stratton loved her voice, whether she was singing or just reading aloud. So he began attending the worship service for the pleasure of listening to her participate.
Soon, he found a project: cleaning up some mold growing on the ceiling.
Then, he learned that Schulte, then new to the congregation, was a recreational runner in need of some training.
Stratton began attending more events at St. Luke's. And the more he attended, the more he discovered needs - of the church and of its members - he could fulfill.
A few years ago, a member of the choir got into a car accident and needed physical therapy. Stratton was happy to drive her to her appointments.
When she insisted on paying him for his trouble, he told her what he really wanted was singing lessons. She said it was a deal. Stratton completed the lessons and soon joined the choir.
Stratton insists he's been on the receiving end of the church's kindness as well.
Once, after he had driven to Atlanta to visit his daughter and then catch a flight to England, he discovered he had left his passport at home.
It was a Sunday and his flight left at 10 a.m. the following day.
Stratton frantically called friends in Savannah looking for someone who may be en route to Atlanta. No one was.
So Schulte cancelled his Monday appointments and drove the passport to Atlanta, meeting Stratton at the airport.
Schulte howls with laughter at the memory.
"I got there with an hour to spare," Schulte said.
But then, many of the memories church members have created with Stratton go like that.
Since Stratton began attending St. Luke's regularly, the church's membership of about 50 has changed for the better, Schulte said. The congregation has become "more youthful acting" and "good-spirited."
"A large part of the credit goes to Cedric," Schulte said. "He's there. He does things for people and he doesn't want recognition."
But if Stratton doesn't believe in God and doesn't feel mandated to go to church, why does he attend?
"What I get from this church is an abiding feeling that we're all friends," said Stratton, who retired from Armstrong in 1993.
"My thinking is that these people are so great to be with, I don't care if I'm forced to live in hell for eternity," Stratton said.
"They're such nice folks, I had a wonderful time while I was here."
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