124. I don’t know if I am a Christian

Galatians 5:22 – 23 “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.”

I am having a crisis of faith. I wonder if I am a Christian.  It is not due to the usual sort of crap that gets in my way – the entertaining of lust, the profanity I use, or that I give people the finger as I drive. (Due to the last one I do not have a ‘Christ is King’ bumper sticker.)  There are those foibles that we all struggle with in our lives. Nor is it that I tend to be very Daoist in my relationship with Jesus.  Nor is it that I think that God is female. Nor is it that I am probably extremely left of centre on being a universalist (that in the end we are all reconciled to God.)

          No this a matter of not feeling that I belong.  It is all too common for me to feel like I am in a Sesame Street song -  One of these things is not like the other.  At times I am left wondering if I read the same bible that others do.  (I am told by my friend that most Christians actually do NOT read the bible.)

          What has me questioning whether I am a Christian or not is that I see those who say they follow the same God as I, sneak misogyny. racism, and hatred into their theology.  It seems that loving “the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind” is a matter of telling others that they do not belong in our church, our neighbour or our country.  Ours seems to be faith of exclusion.

          Do not get me wrong – exclusion is a valuable thing in the right context.  If you want to worship Odin and Thor, my church may not be the right place for you.  If you have come to my church to pick up chicks, you might want to consider that you are not in the right place.  But if you are one of the despised we, the body of Christ, should welcome you, I know I do.

1 Corinthians 1:28 God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are,

In the wake of the mass killing in Orlando, I wonder how many of my Christian friends have wondered if they hold any responsibility? I know I have.  To think that the gunman acted out a hatred that is separate from our culture is very short sighted.  And if you think you hold no responsibility, have you stood against organizations such as the Westboro Baptist Church and their hate speech? I am a member of a faith of that some members considered that the dead in Orlando had what was coming to them.

          More I wonder, do I hold responsibility for the woman who was raped last night?  When we make one sin, if you consider it a sin, so objectionable that all other sexual sin pale by comparison do we give permission to rape by our silence?  Thus, in our rancor over homosexuality do we, through our silence, give permission to rape?

But what concerns me, these days, is the continued hostility towards those who are not like us.  I am fucking tired of it.  Truly.  When I consider the Syrian refugees, I want to weep, not so much for what has happened to their home country, but how they are received. Yes, I know that there a lot of churches that have welcomed the refugees with open arms.

          But it seems that most of what I see is a begrudging acceptance of these people into our communities.  There is great concern that they will bring their struggles here – they won’t, and that they will change our customs – they won’t.  It is like allowing your brother’s family to spend the night because their house burnt down and your worry is that they will order a pizza you don’t like, have an argument and then want to watch a show that isn’t yours favourite.

One of the oddities of my faith is that I question the theology of personal salvation.  I see us called to Christ as he said, to be the light of the world.  That we, you and I, are called to point the way.  This is where I differ from what I see in common Christianity.

I believe the light we shine is supposed to light the way of love.  Consider the two great commandments. The light I shine is not to point out your wretchedness – I think you already know it.  I am to light the way to what is possible, for you, for our community, and for our world.  But lately it seems that I stand with very few people.  So I wonder, am I a Christian, or something else?

123. Just as I am

My last post has challenged me. I am a slacker when it comes to church. Depending on time, energy, and how cute Wanna’s bum seems Sunday morning, I might not make it. I have seemed to work out an arrangement with my pastor - I see him as being the thermometer of the church. My goal is to miss often enough that church is not painful, but not so often that people don’t mistake me for a stranger. So far so good.

          I do have legitimate reasons for not attending, but I bat about 50-50 as to whether I am playing hooky. And while church membership is more than attending Sunday morning service - that is the key time. That is the time we come together as a group - the body of Christ – and declare that these are the people I stand with in Christ. So I am a slacker, and thus the challenge.

If my friend that I wrote about last post allows me to attend, then do I allow others to attend? Does my presence allow another to participate in the congregation?  Does my going to church have more to do with others than myself? Even as I write these questions, I know that answer.

          I have tried being Mr. Gregarious at church, which roughly translates into grunting at others while I get my coffee and cookies. So I don’t do that well.  I would be a great greeter but after we shake hands I would want you to go sit down and bother someone else. It is not that I am anti-social but, after we say hi, what else is there to say, or ask?

          Does my being there, messy hair and all, let some one else know that they are welcome there as well?  The answer doesn’t matter.  The question does, the challenge to me, and I guess to you as well.

          I am tempted to live my faith out in my office writing, study and drinking way too much coffee.  And as much as I disagree with the idea of personal salvation, I would prefer it.  That my faith and my walk is mine and yours is yours.  But as much as I want to believe that my faith is about my relationship with Christ, it is also about you. 

          Scripture reminds me that although he comes into my life, it is through my interactions with others where that relationship, or my salvation, is worked out.  Wherever two or more are gathered in my name, there I will be, so obviously there are people needed.  The question comes back to the same question that I have confronted many times – is my faith, and my participation in the body of Christ have more to do with others than with me?

          Maybe in my faltering, and somewhat awkward relationship with my faith – I am not the staunch pillar of confidence that I wish I was – I allow others to know that they have a place in my church too. 

But there is the catch. How much do I want you to know about me?  How much do I want to share with Mr. The Chairs Are Crooked?  How transparent am I willing to be?  That for me is the challenge. The issue is how much do I trust you to not ridicule me for that which I still struggle?

          There is safety in keeping my relationship with Christ between he and I; it is less embarrassing and there is no need to explain myself.  I realize that as I show up at church unshaven, hair dishevelled, and maybe fly undone that it does not take a detective to realize that maybe I less than together.  But do I really want you to know how not-together I am at times?

          In the meantime, there are those in my church, and in my personal life that know.  Those that I am open with about the struggles and doubts and fears that still wander my life.  But if you do want to know, join me some morning in making sure that the chairs are not straight.

To my credit, or maybe my fortune, I managed to connect with one of those that I feel an affinity with at church.  He and I greet each other every Sunday – at least the ones when we are both there, but we never get past the pleasantries.  The same day I chatted with my overthinking buddy, this man and I managed to chat. Though we differ in our relationship with God we have a commonality.  The difference, by the way, speaks to me about the legitimacy of each of our relationship with Christ. If we were the same, I would be suspicious.  It is the individual nature of our relationship with God where the differences are formed.