Losing my faith and increasing in faith
I have decided to abandon my Christian faith.
The epic decision has been a long time coming and is way overdue. I’ve talked it over with a lot of friends, but I’ve kept much of my angst to myself, hoping to delay the inevitable, praying that, like a self-righting canoe, everything would sort itself out. But the boat wasn’t flipping, and I was drowning.
It all came to a head a few months ago. I’m not sure if it was a prayer, or a rant addressed to myself, but the thought went something like this: I am tired of being a Christian. It’s all just too exhausting. I wake up every morning to be greeted by a sense of what I’m not, shaken awake each dawn by what I’m supposed to be. I’m overwhelmed by too many ‘oughts’. I ought to be a better person, pray for hours without distraction, and read the bible more. I ought to solve world hunger, sort global warming, and find a way to reach the guy next door. I ought to hear God, be a servant, die to self, and give till it hurts. And I’m tired. I don’t want a purpose driven life, forget purpose and pack away driven: I just want a life.
And so, like a shed skin, my dried up Christianity has been discarded, and I’m hoping not to pick up its scaly shell and squeeze back into it again.
Perhaps my announcement will create concern, a truckload of tracts and a few impassioned letters, urging me to repent, to reconsider. Fear not, and write not.
You see, it’s my Christianity, my mutated form of faith that I’m shaking off, and as I do so, I’m relentlessly pursuing Christ still, asking for faith done his way. My problem is not with Jesus: on the contrary. Listen to his words: “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest” (Matt. 11:28, The Message). Jesus is not the reason for my crisis; he’s the answer, not the problem.
I’m asking: how did it all come to this? Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of this most basic truth: I am a disciple, an apprentice. Apprentices are learners, who slowly, painstakingly inch their way into brilliance. They don’t initiate, they respond and learn. They just do what they’re told, no more, and no less. Apprentices don’t change the world, but cooperate with him as he does. Rather than being stalked by what I think I should do, I’m asking to see what he wants me to do, obvious, perhaps, but a truth so easily missed. And here being part of church helps me; I’m part of a body. It’s not me, it’s us. Can a finger be an eye? No. I’ve tried. I’ll like to go where he is leading, rather than gallop ahead, hoping he’s still around.
And then, in my brand of believing, I had to answer the unfathomable, and figure out the Trinity, prayer, evil, heaven, hell and Auschwitz. In living by the Gospel according to Lucas, I had to defend God when he permitted what I didn’t like or understand, like a puny bodyguard for the Holy One, a sentry at Zion‘s gates. Abandoning my mutant faith calls for more trust, and greater ease in the place of mystery.
Perhaps, most important of all, despite preaching grace, somewhere I stopped believing that I am utterly loved by God, just as I am, right now, this second. I am not surrendering to sameness; it’s just that I’d like him to change me by his Spirit, rather than me change me by my sweat. Cooperation and discipline are still required, but there’s a happy surrender to this truth: he’s good at making people in his own image, and I am not. A self made man I will never be.
And so, I bid farewell to my Christian faith, and I hope you’ll toss your version too. May we all grow in true faith. Lord, increase our faith.