Walk With Me

Can we talk?

I’ve always been one who wants to know how things work. I’m also blessed (cursed?) with a love for precision and logic. (My high school math classes and my engineer dad reinforced those tendencies.) Dad’s “Now, Then” lectures were well known in our family; you didn’t ask questions unless you wanted to sit down and listen for awhile. That worked well for math, but when it came to our family faith, questions could quickly land me in a mine field. I had to tread very carefully.

I grew up in church. I was part of the youth group, so my friendships were primarily Christian. (My school friends stayed in the school “box.”) During the 60’s I was insulated, not engaged with what was shaking my culture. Church didn’t equip me for the types of battles that would become increasingly common. I went to college, met and married my husband, who became a pastor shortly after our wedding. The church we served opened my eyes to the fact that other Christians had different perspectives on some things I thought were Settled Doctrine. Many of these perspectives were freeing, others confusing, but through them I learned that the way I was raised wasn’t necessarily the way others were raised. Good to know. It made me think. Hard.

Years passed. Over those years we heard teaching that helped us fine-tune some of the beliefs we had grown up with. We also heard stuff that was definitely heretical when compared to scripture. We examined old assumptions and conformed our minds to more accurate portrayals of truth. Nothing, however, ever made us question who Jesus was, and is. Nothing made us want to turn away in disgust or anger or rebellion. What we did find helpful to us were detailed, logical explanations of who God is, and what he wants from us.

A few years ago, as I heard of real live martyrs in other countries (countries where conversion to Christianity meant family rejection at best, and a nasty death at worst), I began to wonder what I would do if my faith were so costly. Conversations with friends had raised the question, What does it really mean to deny Christ? Can you do a “fake” denial to save your skin so that you can live to “witness” to people? After all, God wants us alive, doesn’t he? And wouldn’t he forgive us? Surely there must be some way out of martyrdom.

Those questions made me very uncomfortable. People outside Western Christianity were hearing a Story that made them willing to risk death and shame in order to embrace something I wasn’t sure I had. What kind of conviction would actually, in real life, make death preferable to denying my faith — denying Christ? What Deep Knowing would enable me to do that? Whatever those Other Country Christians heard and believed was stronger and more persuasive that what I had heard, and what I believed. To them, it must be Real; to me it was still theoretical, hypothetical, not Proven in the Lab of Life.

I went into Question Mode — Research Mode — Reading-the-Bible-and-Trusted-Authors-and-Holding-My-Own-Feet-to-the-Fire Mode. I’m still there. Many times I’ve tried to put myself in the boots of someone NOT raised in church, who is interested in finding answers to questions that keep her awake at night, or that pop into her mind when there’s no music playing or screens glaring at her. Those alone-in-the-dark-under-the-stars moments when she thinks, “There’s got to be more than what I’m living. I wish there was Someone to Ask.”

I wonder what people like that would think if they heard some of the discussions that take place in Bible studies or Christian coffee hours? Would life’s puzzle pieces begin to come together and make sense to them, or would they walk away more confused than they were when they walked in?

And, more to the point, of all the Christian information I’ve taken in over the years, what makes sense to me? What concepts have moved from the Knowledge column to the Practical Wisdom column in my life? What is the reality on which I have actually built my life? I want the deep faith that made First Century Christians unquestioningly face hungry lions rather than deny their Father in Heaven — I want the love Jesus had for his Dad.

Every human being must, at some point in his or her life, answer four basic questions:

• How did everything begin?

• What does it all mean?

• How do I know what is right or wrong?

• Where will it all end?

I write is to find out what I’ve been thinking. (Those of you who are writers know what I mean.) Thoughts flit around in my brain like butterflies until I catch them and pin them down with words. Words make thoughts real and more observable. Seeing them in print helps me evaluate their truth or falsehood. I write because I believe I’m not the only one who has puzzling questions, or is discouraged about finding Truth in a muddle of opinion. If we, you and I, can admit we don’t know it all but would like to know more, we may be able to help each other along this path of life.

I’m constantly reading and thinking, listening to the words and thoughts of others, and I’d love to share the results of my “percolating” with you. Walk with me. We’re on this path together. Talk with me. Let’s do some “What Iffing.” I’d love to have your comments along the way. So if you see this picture when you open one of my posts…

Photo by Noah Henning. Used by permission.

…know that it’s time for us to go exploring in places we can’t get to on a skateboard: places that require feet, not cars or bicycles. We may find ourselves on holy ground, and have to take our boots off. Please come.