Relevant Faith = Real World Relationships

One of the issues that frequently occupies my thoughts is the importance of relevant spirituality. By this I mean a spirituality that works in our day, time and culture. One of the hallmarks of truth is that it has always been and always will be truth. It never changes, though our perception or understanding of it might as we comprehend it at deeper levels or from different angles. But truth is timeless, and therefore, it is always relevant, no matter the culture. This means that, for a Christ follower, the truth he or she lives by must also be relevant to the culture in which the Christ follower lives.

When we get into this subject matter, we start getting into really sticky ground. On the one hand, truth must be relevant, but on the other it mustn't change. And I will be the first person to raise my hand and admit that I haven't figured out the balance of this just yet. On the one side you have the Fundies. (I know it sounds like I'm tearing these poor folks to shreds in most of my posts, but I really don't mean to. I just disagree with so much of what they're doing, even though I know they're doing it with the best of intentions.) They are so dedicated to the truth that they no longer have a relevant, relatable spirituality. Sorry, folks, but when you sit through a movie like "Saved" and watch Fundamentalism in action, you can't help but see how far out in left field the Fundies have gotten. Their spirituality doesn't appeal to me, let alone the agnostic, the atheist or the seeker. Most Fundies are so concerned about not compromising their faith that they are completely unrelatable and "not real" to the average Joe. And they have this notion that people will reject them now, but when they have a need they'll be banging down the Fundies' door asking for prayer, guidance and help. Not gonna happen. Newsflash: Most people don't trust Fundies, and they sure as hell don't want their canned bullshit. I've talked to enough people who don't embrace Christian spirituality (thanks for coining this phrase, Donald Miller!) to know that that's how they view most of what Christians say.

I can't tell you how many times I saw this lack of relevance in my ministry years, and it always happened with people who were genuine and sincere in their pursuit of God. I remember a few particular incidents where we were instructed to hit the streets with tracts and "share the love of Jesus with people." Even then, in the innocent fire of devotion, I remember thinking that what we were doing was never going to work, that the days of knocking on doors and passing out tracts were long over and someone forgot to send the memo to the church. I knew we looked ridiculous, and even briefly entertained the thought (which I rapidly dismissed as most sinful) that we were doing nothing but making Jesus look pretty damn ridiculous too. I kept my thoughts to myself and soundly chastised myself for being "ashamed of the gospel." I told myself that every good Christian was zealous to tell people about Jesus and rescue them from the pit of hell to which they were currently headed. I was so ashamed of my traitorous thoughts that I couldn't see how true they were. I couldn't admit the possibility that maybe, just maybe, common sense was actually trying to communicate something to me.

The sad part of all of this is that Christ followers actually do have the truth, the hope, the insight, the help that this world is silently begging for. Even if I haven't fully found Jesus to be MY answer, I still believe that He is and wants to be and will be. And I believe this is true for everyone, no matter their situation. However, we have to find a way that share that answer - to LIVE that answer - that allows it to be relevant.

One of the reasons I believe Christians lack relevancy is the fact that they don't really live in the real world. They work there, and they may even have a few "unbelieving" family, friends or neighbors with whom they connect, but few of them really LIVE in the real world. Up until the last year, I was part and parcel of the whole deal. I couldn't name you one friend that I had who didn't share my faith. Most of the people I knew were the same way. Most Fundies have isolated themselves on an invisible island, and the only people allowed to visit that island are other Fundies. "Unbelieving" family and (the occasional) friends are sources of distress, partially because they don't want these loved ones to end up in hell (a legitimate concern) and partially because the Fundy can't really relate to them.

Most Fundies are happy to keep things this way. It's safer and more comfortable to stay on the island than it is to make one's home on the mainland and deal with the real world close up. The few Christians who dare to live in the real world are considered worldly, lukewarm, halfhearted, uncommitted, and unspiritual. Yes, that's right. The isolated few who actually do with Jesus did, live in among the sinners, are unspiritual in the eyes of most of the church. And I know this because I was once one of the "spiritual" ones, and I looked down on people who listened to secular music (cracks me up because I can't use the word secular anymore. The only people I know who know what that means are, or were, Fundies.), people who went to R-rated movies, girls who didn't wear safety shirts (undershirts that were worn to make sure the back and crack wouldn't show if a gal bent over to pick something up), people who kissed before marriage, people who went to clubs, people who had wine with dinner or kept beer in their fridge. Yeah, I was pretty much a self-satisfied spiritual asshole. And because I abstained from all these "ungodly" behaviors, I was supposedly a more godly person. Bullshit.

All that has changed as I've taken this journey. I no longer have patience with people who are so afraid of dirtying their hands that they won't jump down in the mudpit with the hurting. I no longer consider myself "spiritually mature." Instead, I'm a seeker. And now I live in the real world among real people, and those real people actually trust me with deep and personal things because they know I'm not going to shove some Fundy answer at them. Let me give you an example of this.

I'm beginning to develop a rather strong friendship with my carpool buddy. (I also owe her for coining the term "Fundy"!) She happens to be an atheist who leans far to the Left politically. She knows I'm a Christ follower, so this makes for a lot of interesting conversation. But here's the deal. I'm real with her. I'm honest with her. I don't try to play myself up as being someone who's got it all together or who has the corner on spirituality. I'm honest about my doubts and my struggles. I'm straightforward about the problems I see in the church. And because I don't hand her bullshit, she trusts me and is becoming a real friend. Now a few weeks back we were talking on our way to work one morning. I was updating her on my progress through the "Sex and the City" series. (All Fundy readers just lost all confidence in my spirituality and are dropping to their knees in prayer.) Like most Fundies, I had never seen an episode, but this spring when I moved into my new apartment, my roommate decided that I needed to be "corrupted." Now I will admit that this show is beyond racy, and in former days I wouldn't have sat through the first episode, but times have changed. That, however, is not my point.

My friend and I were discussing the relationship plot of one of the characters in the series, and without having any ulterior spiritual motive to preach a moral, just in the context of the conversation, I told her that I don't really think the definition that show gives of love is actually anything like what real love is. She asked me what I meant, so I told her that their definition of love is actually a very selfish thing. They "love" someone because that person makes them feel good or satisfies them in some way. When that person stops "doing it" for them, they stop loving them. Then I told her that I believe real love is unconditional. It's selfless and sacrificial. I believe that real love causes you to choose to pursue another person's highest good, even at cost to yourself. She didn't say much to that, and the conversation moved on to other things, but she got quiet. I finally asked her if everything was okay, and she said she had been thinking about what I'd said about love. She said that she is a bit of a slob and her husband is always asking her to work on being a bit neater. Then she said, "I was thinking about your definition of love, I think that if I look at this that way, it will make it easier for me to do what he's asking me to do, because if I really love him, I'll be willing to do what's best for him, even if it costs me a little extra effort."

WOW. In that moment, I knew I was right where God wanted me. I was sharing truth. I was laying a foundation to share Jesus someday. I was living a faith that was relevant and real, and I was sharing that faith with someone who would have rejected it had it come in traditional Fundy packaging. And all of those things happened because I was living in the real world, just sharing conversation with a friend. I didn't have an ulterior motive. I wasn't moralizing or trying to convert her. I wasn't perched on a box, shouting truth at the top of my lungs. I wasn't waving a sign tattooed with John 3:16. I was just giving her an insight into who I am and how I see the world. Relevant spirituality.

I'll be the first to admit that for every time I get it right, there are ten times I get it wrong, but I'm learning not to fear being wrong the way I once did. Granted, I don't want to get it wrong, but getting it wrong is how we learn, and if nothing else, I've left the safety of the island behind me forever. I've dared to live in the real world and make mistakes because I believe that in doing so I can reach the real world more effectively.

Finally, I do want to say that I don't believe that making spirituality relevant should involve compromising the truth. I'm not going to get into how compromise should be defined because the Fundies won't agree with my view, and I don't have the time or enough understanding to explore the issue yet. Making Christian spirituality relevant doesn't mean that we "de-salt" it. It doesn't mean that we make it so palatable that it loses all its flavor. The hard part of all of this is that Jesus Christ and what He stands for are at odds with much of what our world stands for. That's why we need Him. But it also means He irritates us. He says a lot of things I don't like. They go against my grain and make me uncomfortable. They aren't easy. Relevant faith can't dare lose this because to do so is to lose the very thing that makes it worth investing in.

This is an issue that isn't black and white, and as I said before, I don't have it all sorted out yet. But I think that my encounter with my friend is a good example of relevant faith. What I shared with her was salty. It was an irritant. It challenged her to change her behavior. But in doing all of this, it also somehow managed to avoid offending her. It wasn't preachy. It wasn't judgmental. And I think that's what we need to aim for.

Wrestling with God

It's kind of amazing to me how two different Christians can interpret a scripture in two completely opposite ways. The one that's been on my mind for the last day or so is in Genesis where the story is told of how Jacob wrestled with God.

Last year I was given an enormous personal decision to make regarding a relocation to an entirely new region. Certain "acquaintances" of mine (their terminology, not mine) felt that "God's will" for me was very clear. I, however, did not find it clear at all. When asked about it, I confessed that I was still wrestling with God over the matter. Oh, the response! "Be careful not to wrestle with God about it too long. Remember what happened to Jacob! He wrestled with God and God had to make him lame because of it." Gee, thanks. That makes me feel so much better. Now I have this huge decision to make AND I'm being threatened with divine retribution if I don't come up with the right answer before the buzzer goes off!

The pastor of the church I currently attend has a different perspective, one that really resonates with me, especially where I am at this point in my life. I was in conversation about it with my friend Trish and brought up a message he preached on the subject a few months back. When her husband came home and joined our conversation, he brought up the same sermon without knowing we had already discussed it. Thought that was awesome! But it has put the whole concept of wrestling with God in the forefront of my mind today. You see, my pastor believes that wrestling with God is actually a good thing. He talked about how there are things in our lives that we have to wrestle with God over. The fact that we're even wrestling is good, if for no other reason, because it indicates that God is at work in us and we are recognizing that and engaging Him over an issue. Wrestling with God means that relationship is happening, change is occurring. In fact, I was thinking just last night about the fact that Jacob wasn't really changed into the man he was meant to be until he wrestled with God.

So I think wrestling is a good thing. I think it's a necessary thing for any person who desires authentic spirituality and a close, genuine relationship with God - the kind of relationship in which a person can understand God.

I bring all this wrestling stuff up because if I were to characterize where I have been over the past few months, it is there. I run and I wrestle. Yes, it's as unpleasant as it sounds. But I do so because I believe this is the path I need to take.

My current wrestlings (actually much of my wrestling overall) has to do with the Fundy concept of sin and obedience. Before any Fundies freak out on me, I still believe in the Bible as the authority on these matters. I believe in black and white. I don't believe that I can just pick and choose a "custom fit" salvation plan with a designer Jesus to match. But I'm still wrestling because for the first time in my life I'm admitting that I don't like or understand all the "house rules." I don't want to obey all of them. (There are one or two in particular that I'm really wrestling with at present. They make sense to me when I look at them through my "technically correct" Fundy eyes, but in light of the art and beauty I don't think they're such a big deal.) Being in this position would have freaked me out at one time, and to a certain extent it still does, but when I think about Jacob and what it means to wrestle with God, I think that being where I am and doing what I'm doing is a very good thing. As I told Trish and Dan last night, "I need a better reason to do the right thing than the fact that it's the right thing to do." (I congratulated myself on the fact that Trish seemed to find this a very profound thought. LOL.)

Now as a Fundy, I would have fought with that statement of mine tooth and nail. I would have taken it down like the heresy I would have believed it to be. And there is something to be said for doing the right thing because it's the right thing to do. That's not what I'm really knocking. What I'm really looking for, though, is a more personal reason to do right, a more mature understanding of why God issues certain "house rules." You might say I'm growing up. See, when you're a kid, you're expected to do as Dad says and not ask questions. Then there are the teenage years when a kid needs a bigger reason to do the right thing. It's not enough that "Dad says so." The rules and guidelines need a bigger context than black and white. And through those teenage years, a child might be said to "wrestle" with his parents, but in the end most emerge on the other side as mature adults who are able to interact with their parents on a whole different plane. They've weighed the rules and tested the boundaries. They've owned the guidelines they will live by, and adopted (or rejected) Dad's rules for personal reasons. And in doing so, they've become capable of a much richer, far more mature interaction with their parents than a child with his blind acceptance of commands. It might be said that, in having wrestled with his father, a son comes to understand his father's heart in the commands he gives, while a child's knowledge of that mysterious place is limited.

And so I wrestle. I find myself battling with God over things He says we should or shouldn't do. Sometimes it's because His ways and purposes don't make sense to me. Sometimes it's because they do, but in spite of that I want my own way. But even in this, I sense that some part of His heart is pleased with me, if for no other reason than that I have finally engaged Him on a deeper level and begun to interact with Him in the profound kind of way that really lets Him do in me the kind of thing He does best.

For so many years I obeyed without questioning. I was just like that little child. Dad said it, I did it. It was unconditonal surrender. Now we wrestle, and because we do, He has the chance to really get down beneath the superficial surrenders of an unknowing child to the place where He can do business with the deeper levels of my heart.

One of the problems that I find myself running into as I do this wrestling, though, is that far too often I don't actually wrestle. I just avoid. It's one of the reasons I haven't been to my church in six weeks. It's not that I don't want to be in church. I love my church. I feel safe there, as though God really has some beautiful and meaningful things to teach me there. I feel like there's a place of healing there for the bruises that Fundy-ism left on my soul. But I also have to contend with truth there. I have to face myself honestly when we sing songs to God and I can't mean all the wonderful things that are coming out of my mouth. I mean some of them, but most of them I just want to mean. I also find myself coming face to face with the fact that there are a few very specific house rules that God has made very black and white that I really don't want to pay attention to. In fact, if given the opportunity, I would be more than likely to ignore them and do just as I please.

I suppose this too is part of the wrestling, but it's a most uncomfortable place for me to be in. Playing the role of the submissive child is one that tends to come more naturally to me, so it's awkward and unsettling to be in the place where I can no longer make myself be that child.

I can think of more than one Fundy who would say I'm in a very dangerous place, and perhaps they are right. But I also can't help but think that this journey is God's very strange answer to all my very sincere prayers of Fundy days, and that when I come to the end of it and am sent on yet another, I will say I am glad to have made it and that wrestling with God has made my interaction with Him rich and deep and all that I really wanted it to be.

Running Away

My friend Dan posed an interesting question, and again I think it's one that deserves to be explored. He asked why I (or Gomer) would run away from the best thing that's ever happened to me. In some ways that's a question that's impossible to answer. It's going to be something different for every "Gomer." As far as the historical Gomer is concerned, there's no record to tell us what made her decide to leave, so any thoughts I have on the subject would be mere conjecture. However, I can tell you why I ran away, though the reasons are complex.

I guess I should start by saying that, for me, running away isn't about leaving forever. It's about trying to find home. It's about recognizing that this is supposed to be the best thing that's ever happened to me, but the reality has fallen far short. In one sense, Hosea (Jesus) is the best thing that's ever happened to me. The problem is that Jesus (and my relationship with Him) has become so deeply entangled with my Fundy background that I can't entirely separate Him from it to experience Him in a purely undiluted way. So much of my experience of Him and perception of Him is skewed by the areas of Fundy thinking that are funky that I have a really hard time reaching out and connecting with Him without bringing all that other crap with me. It's like someone has embedded a lens on my eyes that has twisted the truthful images I see until they are so distorted I can't see them truthfully. I'm trying to dig out that lens, because until I do I'm never going to be able to see clearly and experience truthfully. Let me try to give you a concrete example.

During most of my last ten or so years in the Fundy church, I had an extremely difficult time admitting that the thing that was supposed to satisfy my soul, the thing that everyone around me said had satisfied their souls, wasn't really cutting it. Most of the time, I viewed that unfulfilled place in my heart as a result of my failures: I didn't seek God in prayer, Bible reading and fasting enough; I didn't want to lay my all on the altar and be completely sold out; I wanted a husband to share my life and wasn't fulfilled in Christ alone (You wouldn't believe how many times I was made to feel guilty for my desire to be married. It was as though I was saying God wasn't enough. Hello, Fundies, there are some needs that God satisfies through others, or did you forget that Adam, while living in perfect relationship with the physically manifested presence of God, still found that he needed a wife?); I just wasn't hungry enough for God to convince Him to fill my life with His presence; I wasn't willing to pay the price; I was too sinful and unholy...

Were all these "I wasn't enough" convictions of mine true? I'm beginning to think they weren't. Fundies are notorious for turning spirituality and the experience of God into a spiritual exercise, and an exercise that's exhausting, at that. Though most of them would never admit it and say the illustration is unfair and wrong, their mentality of having to jump through spiritual hoops to please God is nearly identical to the self-flagellating practices in other religions that include such demands as crawling from one city to another on one's knees and performing all sorts of ritual punishments to deepen one's divorce from the physical world. Most Christians do the same kind of crap, but it takes a different form. (I'll explore these concepts more some other time.)

I was convinced that if I just sought God hard enough and lived holy enough and longed for Him and nothing else, He would fill my life and satisfy the deepest longings of my soul. So I tried and tried and tried for nearly fifteen years. I prayed and prayed and prayed. I devoted myself and fasted and went to church three times a week. I served in church ministries that made me miserable and cut myself off the from the corruption of the "real world" I now live in. And despite all my sincere efforts to be a woman who pleased God and knew Him and was loved and satisfied in Him, I was full of just as much longing as before. Really good person, really empty heart. That's not to say I didn't have my moments. I did. I can remember a number of instances where God really reached out to me and touched me in a profound way, and it's those encounters, in part, that convince me that being a Christ follower is really that path to find truth.

It was about two years ago that I began to admit to myself, every now and then, the realization that Jesus wasn't really doing for me what He'd said He would. I didn't blame Him for this. I still don't. I see it as my inability to receive Him because of my own warped thinking. I began to realize that He had said that those who drank of Him would never thirst again. Didn't work for me. He said that He was the bread of life and that in taking Him in I would never hunger again. Not my reality. I was hungry all the time. My worship of Him and relationship with Him were based almost entirely on longing, not the thanksgiving and joy that come from being fulfilled. It wasn't His promises that weren't true; it was my thinking that kept me from experiencing them the way I was meant to.

So now we're back to the whole "why would you run away" question. The truth is I'm not running away from the best thing that ever happened to me. I'm running away from the Fundy thinking that clouded my perception and hindered my ability to experience God. I'm running away from an extremist lifestyle that cuts me off from real people with real wounds who really need to experience a legitimate Savior and not another religious exercise. Unfortunately, Jesus got all entangled in that, so sometimes, in my effort to cut away the mess, I cut away a little too much truth. Sometimes in my efforts to be real, I cross the line and do things I don't think Jesus would approve of. I've said more than once that in order to fix this mess I'm throwing the baby away with the bathwater, but before it's all said and done I'm going to go out and get that baby. I know that I'm swinging from one extreme toward another at times, and this frightens me a lot. I intend and hope to swing back toward the center to a place of wholeness and balance, but sometimes I'm afraid that if I run away too far and too hard and He doesn't come after me, I won't ever find my way back.

I have a lot of issues with the truth. (I can just hear my old Fundy friends crying "Amen.") There are some things the Bible says that, at this point in my life, I don't like or agree with. I'm not saying they aren't truth; I'm saying I don't like them and therefore have a hard time accepting or swallowing them. I know that at times I'm holding Jesus at arm's length because there are some really tender places in me and I'm not ready to come face to face with truth just yet. All those "religious hoops" have left their mark, and I'm trying to sort the good from the bad, untangle the worthwhile from the worthless.

So I hope that helps to make a bit more sense out of all this. And, Dan, please feel free to ask away. Your questions are great, and they give me food for thought and material to explore. I appreciate them.