Why I’m still a Christian
HINT: It’s not because there’s “proof”
I recently published a couple stories here on Medium that got quite a bit of traction (at least compared to what I’ve written in the past). The first one — “Help! I think I’m still a Christian” — was about embracing the tension of staying connected to the Way of Jesus (and retaining the label of “Christian”) when the general consensus in non-Christian culture about what Christians believe or how they act doesn’t necessarily describe you.
The second article — “Are Deconstructors ‘Real Christians’?” — was a follow-up to the first, responding to some pushback I was getting about whether or not “deconstruction” is a task that faithful Christians can or should participate in.
While I was surprised and encouraged by the level of “engagement” these articles were getting, I was even more struck by the personal faith stories people were sharing with me in response. It wasn’t just comments from strangers, but texts from friends too. It was such a privilege to hear from so many people who were experiencing the same kind of longing as I was (and still am).
In an attempt to honor these folks’ vulnerability, I thought it’d be worthwhile to share a bit of my own story.
It should be noted at the outset that what follows is not my “testimony” — at least not in the cringey, churchy sense of the word.
Nor is it an “apologetic.” My aim is not to present a rational argument in favor of Christianity. Rather, I want to share some of the beliefs that are at the center of my spiritual and theological perspective, and how taking those beliefs to their natural end has, time and time again, led me back to the person and Way of Jesus.
For the sake of time (yours and mine) I’m going to give more of a fly-over view rather than a methodical reflection, but I hope you find something meaningful in it nonetheless.
Love is the centering point of all reality
Love is hard to argue against. I’ve yet to meet (or read) a person who would argue love is a bad thing. Certainly folks like to argue about expressions of love (we’ll get to this later). But love itself? Nah.
At the core of our very being, we are all unrelentingly pulled toward love. It’s why we cry at the end of movies. It’s why our hearts flutter when we see the ones we love. Love is even so powerful that just thinking about it can energize and empower us. I’ll give you an example:
In 2020, I decided to run a half marathon. For some, that’s not a major feat, but for me, it was akin to climbing a mountain. Naturally, my first move was to text my brother, given that he was an Applied Health Science major during his undergrad and spent the first few years of his career helping professional athletes with their off-season training.
All I asked for was a few tips and tricks, and more importantly, things I should definitely avoid while I trained. He took it 10 steps further. Within minutes, I got a text back with a “couch to half marathon” style plan, accompanied by a message that read: “We start Monday.”
“We…”
For the next 9 months or so, my brother and I texted back and forth about our progress (we lived in different cities at the time). He pushed me, I tried to push him (though he didn’t need it as much as I did). It was so helpful to have that kind of support. But that’s not the point of the story.
The point is this: when things got tough (as they inevitably did) I found myself coming back to one simple, but powerful visualization. Any time I wanted to quit on a run, or skip it altogether, I would imagine myself crossing the finish line of the race we had signed up for, finding my brother there cheering me on (because he was obviously going to finish well before me), and just collapsing into his arms.
That image was powerful. Even now, I’m feeling a lump in my throat and water behind my eyes just thinking about it. Part of me wants to lace up my shoes and go for a run again.
It worked. Every time I conjured up that image in my mind, I discovered some new well of energy and resilience. It’s hard to explain, but impossible to ignore, and far more significant than we often realize.
It’s like that old urban legend of the mom lifting the car off of her baby. Biologists credit adrenaline, but the adrenaline was brought on by love.
What is love? (“Baby don’t…” sorry)
If love is the centering point of all reality, then the next question is: “What is love?” More specifically, what is the purest expression or embodiment of love? How do we experience and engage with love to the fullest extent?
Forgive the Sunday School answer, but for me, the answer is Jesus.
I’ll ask for a second forgiveness for a potentially pretentious move as I rely on the work of one of the philosophers we all had to pretend to read in undergrad to explain what I mean.
Søren Kierkegaard’s parable of “The King and the Maiden” has always resonated with me. He tells of a king who falls in love with a lowly maiden, and is thus struck with a conundrum.
He could marry her, and usher her into a life of regality — an act which his courtiers assure would be “a favor for which she will never, in her whole life, be able to thank [him].” But if he does so, her love will forever bear a tinge of obligation. She will love him, at least in part, because of what he has done for her, not for who he is.
The point of the parable can be summarized by a quote appearing near the beginning:
Love exults when it unites the equal, but it triumphs when it makes that which was unequal equal in love.
For the maiden’s love to be pure, the king must step down from his throne and join her in the slums, so that she may choose to love him for who he is.
Naturally, Kierkegaard devised this parable to express the potency of the Incarnation. The King stepped down from his throne and made himself a lowly servant, so that our love for him would be pure and true. This is how I understand the “love of Christ” written about in Scripture, born of the very God who is Love.
Paul put it this way to the church in Philippi:
In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:
Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;rather, he made himself nothing
by taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
by becoming obedient to death —
even death on a cross! (Phil. 2:5–8, NIV)
Let’s set aside the textbooks for a second. Consider it this way: “love” that prioritizes personal gain never lives up to our expectations.
Forget the “morality” of it all. On a purely functional/experiential level, self-centered love is a let-down. It leaves us feeling empty.
True love requires a beloved. The way to experience love to the fullest is not simply by “receiving” it from another, but by giving it away. By giving ourselves away for the sake of another.
That’s what we see in Jesus, not only in the way he lived and moved in the world, but in his very Incarnation.
For me, there is no greater love than the others-centered, self-sacrificial, offered-to-everyone (even enemies) love of God seen in Jesus Christ.
That said, people of many faiths (and no faith) generally agree that Jesus, as a person, was a pretty solid dude. Definitely worth listening to. But appreciating (even emulating) the love of Jesus is not the same as identifying with Christianity as a religion. So, why do I take it that one step further?
Here’s why:
If Jesus is the fullness of Love, then we should take him seriously
Countless folks over the past couple millennia have argued something along the lines of “I love Jesus but hate Christianity.” Frankly, I resonate with the feeling.
Unfortunately, the more I process it, the more I’m convinced that if we really want to embody the same kind of others-centric, self-sacrificial, offered-to-everyone (even enemies) love that Jesus embodied, then we need to take Jesus on his own terms.
Of course, the Bible has all kinds of sticking points, and the Gospels are, admittedly, rife with complexity. Bearing all that in mind, there still is no clearer picture of who Jesus was, how he thought, or what he believed than the Gospels.
If you’re looking for foolproof, I hate to inform you, it doesn’t exist. But if you want trustworthy, I think the fact that the Gospels survived thousands of years of history — including hundreds of years of persecution — proves that there’s at least a foundation of truth in them.
According to those Gospels, Jesus truly believed himself to be one with God (cf. John 10:30). And not just any god. The God of Abraham. The God of Isaac. The God of Jacob. YHWH.
That self-understanding was not peripheral. It was central to the way he lived and moved in the world. It was the source he drew from. It was his orientation to the world around him. It altered the way he viewed every person and event he ever encountered.
To validate the love of Jesus but invalidate the God he called Father is paradoxical. If we truly believe that Jesus is the fullness of love, then we have to take him seriously.
However precariously, the Christian tradition has always attempted to take Jesus seriously, not only as a prophet and teacher, but as the full representation of God, and the clearest picture of what it can look like to be human.
That’s why I’m still a Christian.
Finding God in the tension
If you read my first article in this (unintentional) series, you’ll know that while I retain the label of “Christian,” I do so a bit begrudgingly. (We’re all a work in progress.)
“Christian” means something different to everyone, and to many nowadays, what it means isn’t good. That said, I’ve learned to see this tension as a gift, rather than an obstacle.
If you find yourself compelled by the person and Way of Jesus, but repelled by Christianity, you’re not lost. In fact, I think you’re right where you should be. I truly believe that we most often find God in the messy, complicated, tense places of our lives.
So I’ll end this article the way I ended that one:
If you find yourself in the Borderland, looking for a way out, I hope you find the courage to stay. Look around, fight to find your community, and retrain your gaze to see the presence of God in the liminal spaces of your imperfect and unexpected realities.
You’re not alone.
