I am quickly realizing that I suffer from a very unfortunate affliction: I am an informed, opinionated person who, deep down, really, really dislikes giving offense to people.
It would be so much easier if I was one or the other rather than both. I could not make waves because I didn’t care to, or I could make waves, consequences be damned.
The latter is how I often viewed my more conservative and evangelical religious brethren—as folks willing to make waves, regardless of the consequences. Such courage was enviable if for no other reason than uncompromising people are easy to admire. We see it as laudable to stick up for your principles, but as I have learned from conversations here in Longview with friends, colleagues, and seminarians, when you may be more moderate in style, forming your opinions in shades of gray sometimes takes some serious explanation.
I have written a lot lately on the historical faults of my mainline Protestant tradition, and one of those faults is that stereotype that we really are spineless wimps who are perpetually and irrationally terrified of giving offense.
The thing is, though, don’t most people of faith still carry irrational fears? I mean, I realize that faith helps us allay our fears and act out of love rather than fright or self-preservation. But it often is only capable of that up to a point in many of us—including me.
It is something I worry more about, because just as more evangelical Christians might look at me and ask, “Eric, why the heck aren’t you more courageous about being a bold witness for your theology?” I am now in turn apt to not admire their boldness, but to ask, “Why the heck aren’t you more courageous about our religion’s place in society itself?” We see politicians pandering to the fears of the hard right wing of my religion when they pass bans on Sharia law, or criticize the US Air Force Academy’s construction of a worship site for Wiccans and other neo-pagans. Phrases like “taking our country back” imply we are in fear of losing something we once had.
My question is simply this: If you believe Christianity contains the truth of God’s very essence and nature (which I am guessing that, if you self-identify as a Christian, you do), then what does it matter if other faiths are being given a leg up in what is undoubtedly a Christian-influenced American public sphere? If all of the religions of the United States are put on an equal playing field, shouldn’t Christianity still be fully capable of calling people to it because of how compelling and truthful our message is?
Put a different way—if what we are saying is right, then why do we need a leg up from the state by putting down the faiths of others? Shouldn’t we be winning souls on the merits of our own faith, rather than by suppressing the faiths of others?
One of the greatest crises facing American Christianity in the 21st century is, in my eyes, the various charges of hypocrisy put to us--we say "love thy neighbor" but exclude them if said neighbor is gay; we say "blessed are the poor," but we preach prosperity theology. And we fight for religious freedom...but only if it is the freedom to practice the same beliefs as ours.
I had a very heartfelt conversation recently with someone about same-sex marriage being legalized in Washington. Even though she personally opposes it, she believes it must be legal because the only way she can guarantee her own religious freedom is to guarantee that the Christians who do believe in same-sex marriage (ie, yours truly) have the freedom to put their beliefs into practice as well.
It was a profound learning moment for me: an example of someone so secure in her faith in God that she did not feel the need to suppress another’s spiritual practice. So, I strive for the same mentality. The only way I know that Christians can worship as they wish at the Air Force Academy is if Wiccans can also worship as they wish. Rather than being anti-Christian, that is actually profoundly pro-Christian, and pro-faith.
On paper, that would simply be a case for the Establishment Clause that guarantees freedom of religious practice. But really, it is the sort of faith made possible by an absence of fear. While it may always be easier to rally people to belief by invoking a devil or bogeyman figure (enter our favorite punching bag, Lucifer), it is preferable to me to bring people to belief by invoking God, for it is through God, and only God, that I receive any spiritual power whatsoever to make the world better. I must be secure enough in my faith in God, rather than in my fear of evil, if I am to do good in this lifetime. I know of evangelists who try to scare people into faith, but that simply is not me. I'd rather call someone to faith and repentance out of their sense of love, not their sense of fear.
The opposite of faith isn’t doubt. Indeed, one tempers the other. The opposite of faith is fear. And fear should not be winning this struggle, but, ironically, one of my fears is that it is.
Yours in Christ,
Eric
No comments:
Post a Comment