"Pick up" I replied.
I had left some stuff at my mother's house the night before, and now needed to pick it up before returning to the Twin Cities, and meeting her at the Christmas Eve services was most convenient. But that was beside the point. I didn't want to go to church. Fortunately I had an excuse, other family engagements, but the thought of going to church was not attractive to me.
And that of course leads to the inevitable "why?" Why didn't I want to spend time gathered with others reflecting on the meaning of Christmas?
That I didn't know the people at my parent's church was part of it. Style was another. But the real reasons were deeper.
In past iterations of my faith, there would have been questions about commitment, sin, and things like that. Those questions still linger, but I am increasingly coming to own my identity in these in between spaces.
It is a strange thing to both deeply believe and deeply doubt. Again, in past iterations of my faith these things would have been cause for existential angst. They aren't now.
I am keenly aware of arguments for the existence of God that suggest she resides solely in the grey matter of our minds, filling up the spaces of the things we can't explain, and providing a variety of evolutionary advantages. For example, a commitment to something greater than ourselves which leads to altruistic activities that further the species at the expense of ourselves. Or the common notion that all paths lead to heaven; that there is one life source (or many) known by many different names in the various cultural contexts we humans share. (In particular, I appreciate the more nuanced versions of this thought, less focused on heaven and more focused on the nature of God.) I appreciate the internal logic of these arguments, and am aware of the conservative Christian arguments against them, which likely have corollaries in other religions. I agree with some of these traditional arguments.
What is changing now, is my willingness to side-step questions that allegedly demand an answer, and instead focus on being present, being a better person, and inviting Jesus Christ and those around me to be a part of that process.
I use the name Jesus Christ intentionally because I still believe. I was raised as a fundamentalist evangelical, and later attended the inter-denominational, but still evangelical, Fuller Theological Seminary, known for being too liberal for fundamentalists and too conservative for liberals. That was a needed and rewarding experience. Grappling with the nature of scripture and theology, who wrote the scriptures and how, and just as importantly, how the present versions of our Bible got to us. That experience cracked an iron curtain that was largely unwilling to dialogue with people and writings of other perspectives, other than to debunk them. Fuller didn't take that approach, and for that I am thankful.
For reasons both consistent and inconsistent with the Christian faith, I don't feel the need to convince people to become a Christian in the overt manner that I did as an extremely conservative Christian. I think there is a time and place for considering the why and the how of things, but it isn't my job to convince anyone of anything.
And I don't feel the need to gather on Christmas Eve, just because everyone else is doing it. I do think that gathering on Christmas Eve for any number of other reasons is a good idea. There have been years where that was exactly what I needed. For many, it is one of the most meaningful parts of their holiday traditions, a quiet respite from an otherwise chaotic season. It's just that I would rather stand under the stars in the falling snow, with silence as my companion.
What is changing now, is my willingness to side-step questions that allegedly demand an answer, and instead focus on being present, being a better person, and inviting Jesus Christ and those around me to be a part of that process.
I use the name Jesus Christ intentionally because I still believe. I was raised as a fundamentalist evangelical, and later attended the inter-denominational, but still evangelical, Fuller Theological Seminary, known for being too liberal for fundamentalists and too conservative for liberals. That was a needed and rewarding experience. Grappling with the nature of scripture and theology, who wrote the scriptures and how, and just as importantly, how the present versions of our Bible got to us. That experience cracked an iron curtain that was largely unwilling to dialogue with people and writings of other perspectives, other than to debunk them. Fuller didn't take that approach, and for that I am thankful.
For reasons both consistent and inconsistent with the Christian faith, I don't feel the need to convince people to become a Christian in the overt manner that I did as an extremely conservative Christian. I think there is a time and place for considering the why and the how of things, but it isn't my job to convince anyone of anything.
And I don't feel the need to gather on Christmas Eve, just because everyone else is doing it. I do think that gathering on Christmas Eve for any number of other reasons is a good idea. There have been years where that was exactly what I needed. For many, it is one of the most meaningful parts of their holiday traditions, a quiet respite from an otherwise chaotic season. It's just that I would rather stand under the stars in the falling snow, with silence as my companion.
I may have my father to thank for this independence. When I was born, we didn't go to the kind of church other people went to, and we didn't have a pagan Christmas tree, just because others did. My father is not easily swayed by anything, least of all popular opinion. I respect that about him. Sure it can be maddening on some topics, but on balance it is a good thing.
He is also able to change his mind.
Today, my father and I have Christmas trees in our front rooms. We both attend churches as normal and vanilla as can be. But thanks in part to my father, I question things, including my Christian faith. This in turn I think, does not diminish a divine connection, it enhances it, drawing me closer to our Creator, and the imago dei that we all share.
It is in that closeness, where it seems like heaven meets earth, in temples and on quiet snowy nights, that sometimes we change our mind. Sometimes for the better.
Today, my father and I have Christmas trees in our front rooms. We both attend churches as normal and vanilla as can be. But thanks in part to my father, I question things, including my Christian faith. This in turn I think, does not diminish a divine connection, it enhances it, drawing me closer to our Creator, and the imago dei that we all share.
It is in that closeness, where it seems like heaven meets earth, in temples and on quiet snowy nights, that sometimes we change our mind. Sometimes for the better.
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