Tag Archives: Faith

Freedom from… or freedom to…?

Posted on by
Reply

A comment on FB I wrote a year ago:

Some years ago, a preacher from Texas rocked my world with a series of lessons that — although I argued with him vehemently at first — ultimately ushered me into what we dubbed my “fall TO grace”. I’d been trapped in quite some legalistic system and lifestyle, a lot of it my own creation.

He kept cautioning me that the goal was not merely freedom FROM but freedom TO. I was thinking about this recently. St. Paul, of course, had things to say about freedom not being about falling into the trap of licentiousness. But for years, free as I was from that former legalism, I knew I was missing something.

I kept musing… “freedom TO…” what? I really think Byzantine Catholicism/Christianity has the answer in the whole concept of theosis and the idea of becoming most fully human when we become who God created us to be. From the outside looking in, someone might think I’m trapped in some system of church attendance and going through all sorts of motions and having to confess to a priest — and there are people in my life who simply don’t get it when I try to explain how healing and freeing all of this is. I don’t HAVE to, I GET to — and until I began living it myself, I never would have believed it either.

Funny thing. I spent my early 60’s painfully burying lifelong hopes and dreams. Believe it or not, I’d looked forward to and imagined this season of my life since I was a little kid, down to some incredible detail. (What can I say? I was a weird kid.) It was a devastating series of blows, a sort of death upon death, to realize that none of that would ever happen. I felt like I was emerging from the ashes of almost everything that mattered to me.

This side of all that death, and while still grieving the deaths of my parents, I can honestly say that some of those dreams are being reborn, even better than I could have possibly imagined.

Sometimes I find myself, in the midst of reflection or prayer, telling God, “This all seems too good to be true… but it is.” A lot of those moments come during the Divine Liturgy or during some other prayers of the Church. My “little life” — which to anyone else probably looks mundane and boring and restricted — has become such a path of freedom and joy and fulfillment, even when it’s rocky and difficult.

Why? Because I’m being healed. Because the Sacrament of Confession/Reconciliation is so powerful that it did, in one fell swoop, what years of hard work with a really good therapist couldn’t even do. It healed parts of me that I didn’t even know needed healing. That would be enough, but there’s more. Because I don’t have to try to reinvent the wheel or come up with my own version of Christianity but can glean from 2,000 years of wisdom from the Church. Frankly, I’m not that smart or learned, so I need people a lot wiser — and especially further along in holiness. Because prayer really does form belief and, ultimately, forms our very way of living. Because I’m being freed from myself and TO an intimacy with the Triune God that I never thought possible.

Because God wooed me and pursued me. Me, despite everything! And I’ve started finally saying yes instead of running away.

It’s not enough to “just believe in Jesus”

Posted on by
1

Understatement of the year: I am not a theologian. So this will not even be an attempt at a theological treatise but merely a narrative account of one aspect of my own faith journey.

Back when I was being a youthful rebellious doofus, I occasionally spouted some half-baked nonsense at my father. One of those silly things was that it supposedly didn’t matter so much what we believed about Jesus, but just that we believed in Him. Apparently the Bible and the early church councils disagreed with me. As my father wryly chuckled about “no new heresies under the sun”, I had to concede that, if I believed in objective truth, I couldn’t just make up my own ideas about Jesus.

If we are truly Christians, what we believe about Jesus Christ is essential.

Fast forward a number of years. I was no longer a youthful rebel, and not quite as much of a doofus. But I was confused about some sermon I’d heard, so I asked my father about it.

“That sounds an awful lot like the heresy of modalism,” my father said. He went on to explain how the early Church had dealt with that heresy (as well as others) by clarifying what Christianity holds to be true about the Trinity. [A quick aside: my Baptist pastor father explained that all of Christianity, with rare exception, affirms at least the first four Ecumenical Councils. Of course there are also many individuals who consider themselves to be Christian but hold doctrines counter to historic Christianity.]

Fast forward more years, all the way to 2020, when I was being catechized by my Byzantine Catholic priest. I was growing a little bit impatient that he kept emphasizing what I viewed as ultra-basic stuff about the Trinity. Suddenly it dawned on me: had I learned nothing in my years as a Christian about the importance of these doctrines? Isn’t this “basic stuff” the very foundation of our faith and practice?

Even the way I form my hand in making the sign of the Cross is a theological lesson and reminder.

One of many things I appreciate about our liturgy is that it is so explicitly Trinitarian. How we pray and worship truly does help form and reinforce our beliefs, which is why I find the depth of meaning in our prayers, symbols, and traditions to be so rich, so beautiful, and so powerful.

In 2020, Byzantine Catholicism was new to me, but the basic historical doctrines of Christianity weren’t. For example, one of my former pastors from yesteryear (a learned Reformed pastor) often emphasized the dual natures of Christ, and taught why it was so important to our faith — to our very salvation — that Jesus Christ is fully God and fully man, and that His divine and human natures cannot be separated. So, when I was learning about Catholicism, the hypostatic union was a familiar concept but, at the same time, it was not one that I’d given much thought.

And then I encountered the word “Theotokos”.

I was only slightly less uncomfortable with the idea of Mary being called the “God-bearer” as I was with her being called the “Mother of God”. Of course I knew that no one was claiming that she was the mother of the Trinity, or that she existed before all else. And I’d always believed that Jesus is God, as well as always believing in the virgin birth. So why was I squirming in my seat? Was I secretly an adoptionist, believing that Jesus did not receive His divine nature until later, perhaps at His baptism? Did the doctrine of the hypostatic union have to mean that Mary bore God in her womb?

One of the smartest people that I know almost gave me an out during a discussion of abortion. She presented a brilliant and Biblical case, from a Jewish perspective, for life beginning with one’s first breath and ending with one’s last. Only, as compelling and thorough as her argument was, I couldn’t agree. [Luke 1:39-44 obviously was more significant to me than to her.]

Years before that, a pro-abortion pastor had refused to say whether the fetus I was carrying was an actual person or not. I didn’t think he was saying anything about me as a mother — I was upset that he dared call into question the humanity of the child in my womb.

So I had to admit that my issue with the concept of the “Theotokos” wasn’t really about Mary after all. It came down to the very basics of Christianity. I wasn’t foolish or arrogant enough to claim that I knew better than the most learned and godly Christians throughout history, so I had no choice but to face what it was that was making me so uncomfortable. Did I really believe that the great, glorious, and almighty God, Creator of the universe, took on human form, not just that of a man but of a child, even of an infant? Did I really believe that He chose to identify so completely with us, with our human condition, that He — our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, fully man and fully God — began His earthly life as humbly as we do?

What can I say? It boggles my puny little mind.

Jesus was human in the womb of Mary. He was also God in the womb of Mary. She didn’t just carry a human being in her womb; she carried the second Person of the Trinity — God incarnate. In other words, I needed to stop squirming about the word “Theotokos”. Either that, or admit that I didn’t really believe what I claimed to believe about Jesus and about the Trinity.

Ah, I ruefully had to admit to myself. This is why my priest keeps going over these “basics”. And Daddy was right — what I believe about Jesus is important!

How not to evangelize

Posted on by
Reply

It happened one day when I was in college, minding my own business, deeply engrossed in reading something posted on one of the campus bulletin boards near Bruin Walk. Suddenly some guy rushed up to me and, without warning, shouted something like, “Did you know you’re going to hell?”

Huh? We were complete strangers, and he had startled me.

“You’re going to hell!” he sounded even more worked up.

“You don’t even know me,” I retorted. “Leave me alone.” And I hurried away, not bothering to tell him that, if he’d actually engaged in conversation rather than accosting me rudely, maybe he wouldn’t have been as convinced of my eternal damnation. As I walked off, he was shouting some abbreviated version of what he thought was the gospel.

I wish I could say that this young, misguided zealot was the only person I’ve ever encountered who thought one should abandon all manners, decorum, and any hint of pleasantness in order to share the gospel. He may have been an extreme case, but I’ve since run across all sorts of people who seem to think “witnessing” requires rudeness, confrontation, argumentativeness, accusations, a judgmental attitude, and a lack of integrity.

Years ago, my brother described someone he knew as a “used car salesman for God”. That person wasn’t actually a used car salesman; instead, his entire witnessing spiel was reminiscent of the worst stereotype of a used car salesman — someone who didn’t care about the person or the car, but just wanted to close the sale.

“But I don’t want anyone to go to hell!” the overly zealous ones are apt to say. So they pretend to take fake surveys as an excuse to get people to talk to them…
…or they shout at strangers…
…or they keep talking to someone sitting next to them on a plane, even after that person has asked them to please let them sleep…
…or they ask nosy, probing — and even creepy — questions of someone whose name they haven’t bothered to ask…
…or they refer to people using derogatory terms…
…or they interrupt conversations…
…or they insult people’s intelligence, religious beliefs, and character…
…or they insist that their “target” is being deceived by Satan..
…or they insist on debating whoever it is that they just randomly accosted on the street…

I’ve heard the argument that, if the building caught on fire, good manners should be dispensed with, in order to alert everyone to the danger about to consume them. But Christians I’ve known who minister to those on their deathbeds have never felt the need to present the gospel with anything but the utmost charity.

Recently I heard someone make the comment, “Apologetics doesn’t convert people; love does.” The rude, confrontational, argumentative people who have tried to witness to me certainly didn’t give me any reason to believe that they were motivated by love. Often, instead, I felt as if they were motivated by anything but love.

But isn’t it better to share the gospel awkwardly, even rudely, than not to share it at all?

The same year that the rude guy accosted me on campus, shouting that I was going to hell, I was sitting quietly in a chapel near campus, grieving over a loss. There was a young man praying nearby. He finally came over, excused himself, offered me a kleenex, and shyly and semi-awkwardly asked if he could pray for me. It was the sweetest thing. I don’t remember his name or even how he looked… just that I felt his compassion and, because of that, I saw Jesus in him.

…but sanctify Christ as Lord in your hearts, always being ready to make a defense to everyone who asks you to give an account for the hope that is in you, yet with gentleness and reverence… 1 Peter 3:15

Edited to add this addendum:

Years ago at work, a new coworker came into my office with a question, first thing on a Monday morning. I made some joking comment about “How can you be so cheerful on a Monday?” She quipped something humorous in reply and went on her way.

Maybe ten minutes later, she was back. She asked if she could give me a more serious answer to my question, and then she briefly told me that she had attended a Christian conference that had changed her life.

It was such a wonderful example of 1 Peter 3:15.

Interpreting something differently doesn’t make you a liar

Posted on by
Reply

Confession time: I was once so obnoxious in online debates — about theology of all things! — that, a few years later, memories of my ill behavior compelled me to track down and apologize to several people. (And, yes, I know I’ve already confessed this on my blog.)

Why on earth had I been so unpleasant in the first place? I should have known better. After all, my father tried to teach me the art of diplomacy. Even in the case of strong disagreement, he modeled humility and integrity, and those virtues kept him from misrepresenting the beliefs and arguments of others. Those same virtues, and the fact that he was a true gentleman, kept him from viewing someone with a different opinion as an “opponent”, or from denigrating them in any way. Even when I voiced some wackadoodle ideas as a disagreeable teenager and young adult, Daddy responded to my half-baked notions with the utmost charity and respect… far more than I deserved.

In high school, I was excited to discover the names of the rhetorical fallacies that my father had been teaching me about for years. I already knew the term “straw man fallacy”, but now I was learning even more about these faulty ways of thinking. Daddy and I had great fun doing one of my homework assignments together: watching news commentary on TV and identifying the various logical fallacies.

Unfortunately, in the heat of later online debates, almost all of my father’s lessons, as well as his godly example, flew out of my head.

In the years since becoming determined to mend my ways, I’ve had the privilege of interacting — in real life and online — with a number of people who have apparently mastered the art of charitable and respectful disagreement. I’d lost my stomach for heated debate, so this was a welcome contrast to the contentious exchanges of yesteryear. When I repeated a relatively common misunderstanding of another faith, my online acquaintance whose faith we were discussing didn’t retort, “That’s a lie!” or “You are making false statements!” She politely corrected me — and I took her correction to heart. (In case you’re wondering, neither of us converted the other. But at least I understood her religion slightly better, and stopped making the same inadvertently erroneous statements about it.)

When I was discussing a passage of Scripture with someone I know, and we interpreted the passage quite differently, he didn’t shout me down with, “That’s not what that verse means at all! Why are you allowing Satan to deceive you?” Nor did he remind me of his extensive theological education. Instead he explained, quite patiently and charitably I might add, why he believed his interpretation was the correct one. He didn’t take my disagreement as a personal attack. Even if he had, I’m convinced he wouldn’t have abandoned his usual good manners.

It seems as if the more truly knowledgeable someone is, the less they feel the need to cover up what they lack by being strident and argumentative. Those who know their subject well can simply be reasonable, calm, and well-spoken.

But maybe there’s much more to it than that. I’ve been on the receiving end of unpleasantries like “May God rebuke you for your love of deception and deceit” as well as the far more palatable “We will probably never agree, and I know each one of us thinks the other is wrong, but I appreciate our discussions.” I’m not convinced that the vast difference in those two responses is entirely due to education or the lack thereof.

At any rate, I don’t want to wait to be some sort of all-around expert in order to be more like the good examples I’ve cited. Great knowledge is not required in order to become more reasonable, more charitable, more humble, and more kind. By the grace of God, even a college dropout like me can grow in virtue.

Maybe I’m finally starting to learn some of my father’s lessons after all.

An addendum on what does constitute lying:

The most widely accepted definition of lying is the following: “A lie is a statement made by one who does not believe it with the intention that someone else shall be led to believe it” (Isenberg 1973, 248) (cf. “[lying is] making a statement believed to be false, with the intention of getting another to accept it as true” (Primoratz 1984, 54n2)). (https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/lying-definition/)

Who should we allow to influence us? Part 2

Posted on by
Reply

(Read part 1 here.)

Increasingly over the past few years, I’ve been asking myself: what is the point of living a Christian life? What is my purpose?

The Baltimore Catechism answers “Why did God make you?” with these words:

“God made me to know Him, to love Him, and to serve Him in this world, and to be happy with Him forever in the next.”

When Jesus was asked what the greatest commandment was, He answered:

“ ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the great and foremost commandment. The second is like it, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments depend the whole Law and the Prophets.” (Matthew 22:37-40)

I’m also reminded of a quote from St. Gregory of Nyssa:

“We must contemplate the beauty of the Father without ceasing and adorn our own souls accordingly.”

There was a time when I thought my understanding of a certain theological system was so important, so extremely important, that it was perfectly justifiable for me to behave like a rude brat in defending it. The sad truth is that I wasn’t defending a theological system — and certainly not Christianity — as much as I was defending myself and my ideas. My anger and argumentativeness was sin, and it was born out of utter selfishness and pride. It had nothing to do with truth, or with God, and it certainly had nothing to do with love.

I didn’t want anyone to treat me the way I was treating them.

At the time, however, I was drawn to other angry people — at least as long as they agreed with me. Then we would rile each other up and assure each other that we were “standing for truth”, that we were “exposing lies and heresies”, and that we were oh so very righteous.

Of course we didn’t convince anyone but ourselves.

Mahatma Gandhi is reported to have said, “I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” He could have been talking about me.

So who do I allow to influence my understanding of Christianity today? It is those Christians whose words and deeds demonstrate to me that they know, love, and serve God. It is those whose love for God and for others is obvious and worth emulating. It is those who “contemplate the beauty of the Father” to such an extent that even I can see the beauty that shines forth from their souls.

Given all my faults and sins, I desperately need people like that in my life — people who are continually being transformed more and more into the image of Christ, people who love well, people who already exemplify what I hope to become.

Anything else isn’t really Christianity.