Why, Despite Everything, I'm Still a Christian
But I'm not saying you should be
There are plenty of reasons not to be. Spin a globe and stop it with your pointer finger, wherever it lands will probably have a history of exploitative Christians. My religion has been used to justify massacring innocent people, the transatlantic slave trade, and the forcible removal of Native American children from their families. My Bible has and continues to be weaponized against women and LGBT people. Across time and geography, the arrival of Christians certainly wasn’t good news for many, if not most, people.
Closer to home, Evangelical Christians have backed Trump in the last three presidential elections. Christian politicians like George W. Bush, heavily influenced by apocalypticism, have felt justified in attacking other countries and savaging the environment. Corporatized Purity Culture taught a whole generation to fear their sexuality. And, on a pettier note, Christian “art” is almost universally awful.
I don’t want to be associated with any of that. I don’t want to be one of them. It feels vulnerable to claim the title of “Christian” even if I attach a string of qualifiers. Plenty of my friends have walked away both for big, justice reasons, and simply because the belief system no longer made sense to them. For all its sales pitches about the magical transforming power of “accepting Jesus into your heart” many Christians are just as selfish and cruel as their non-Christian counterparts, only with an added side of self-righteousness. Who would want any part of that?
Me, I guess? Because I’ve tried to walk away and it turns out, I can’t.
All people use stories to make sense/meaning of their experiences, and stories about Jesus, for good or ill, have imprinted deeply on me. I’m hesitant to even offer an interpretive lens on these stories because I’m keenly aware of how people twist the Bible to suit their own particular prejudices, but I have to say that when I think about the story of Jesus’ life and death, what strikes me is how contrary it is to all the oppression, abuse, and murder done in his name. From the incarnation to his death, Jesus’ life is about willingly laying down power in order to draw closer to the marginalized. The gospels tell us, over and over and over again, that we aren’t meant to seek greatness, but only to serve each other.
The double-edged sword of religion is that religions aren’t just sets of beliefs, they are institutions. Christianity, in its various flavors, is full of rules and rituals. Some of these serve purposes like drawing us out of our petty selfishness and into a sense of boundless awe. Some accomplish truly good things like providing meals or childcare or spaces for community gathering. But other parts of this institution are rotting idols, taking the worst of our impulses and elevating them with a sheen of holiness.
For most of Christianity’s history, this has been our primary institutional sin: instead of seeking to serve, we have sought to control. In doing so, we violate the dignity of our fellow humans, we strip them of the imago dei that is their birthright.
One thing that gives me hope is that, roughly every 500 years or so, Christianity goes through a messy period of strife that eventually leads to reform. The last one was precipitated by Gutenberg’s printing press (1440) and Martin Luther nailing his 95 theses to the church doors in Wittenberg (1517.) We’re due for another.
Like the printing press, the internet has fundamentally altered how information is disseminated. In the chaos of misinformation and corrupt leaders and the rule of law being thrown into question, it’s comforting to remember that the church has been through this before. The question is, what kind of institution will we be in this era?
We have the resources and infrastructure to make a difference; but what sort of difference will it be? I hope those of us who care about the marginalized will not cede this institution to those who would use it as a tool of oppression and control.
If you want to throw up your hands and say to hell with all of it, who could blame you? Each of us must grapple with our own consciences. But me? I’m sticking around. Not proudly, not with full assurance that it’s the right choice, but with the hope that things can be better. If you’re in the same boat, welcome aboard.
BONUS MATERIALS:
this article on how German Christians reacted to Hitler. Am I obsessing over Dietrich Bonhoeffer because Trump? Maybe!!!
if you’re debating whether to stay or go, Do I Stay Christian? by Brian
McLaren is a pretty fair look at both sides of the argumenthere’s a video just for fun
As a pastor, I have thought about leaving plenty of times and I am sure I will again in the future. Not giving up Jesus, but giving up the institution. It's toxic but it provides me with a paycheck and the resources to try to do good things. It's harmful to so many, but then I see it do amazing things like support women trying to leave their husbands in abusive marriages or children who suddenly need a safe place to be or change whole communities for the better. So, I stick around, but I don't defend the institution, I can't do that with integrity. But I do defend the people who actually take the gospel seriously, and I think that is what really keeps me there. That and the hope that people can wake up to see the damage they are doing in the name of someone who believed in all the things so many "Christians" are against.
I'm not religious, but I have friends who are, one in ministry and one who used to be. They are both disgusted by the changes happening, but at least in the case of one of them, she isn't giving up either. I have so much respect for it, and maybe it's the only way to see that it doesn't all go to hell and people keep fighting for what they believe is right.