“To all my nonbelieving, sort-of-believing, and used-to-be-believing friends: I feel like I should begin with a confession. I am sorry that so often the biggest obstacle to God has been Christians.” – Shane Clairbourne
“Mom, I don’t even want to call myself a Christian anymore.” I was sitting, ironically, in a church parking lot, with my arms wrapped around my knees and chest heaving as I let out my frustrations on the phone that had built up with this community of faith in the past two and a half years. I bawled and rested my head on the steering wheel as I let my pent up hurt and confusion roll off my tongue in a spew of anger that was punctuated by a rebellious curse word every now and then. “I’m tired of Christians being fake. I’m tired of judgment, and lies, and people preaching love and acceptance but not actually giving a crap (or maybe another word) about people that aren’t exactly like them! When are we going to realize that we’re acting more like the Pharisees when we separate ourselves from the ‘bad crowd’ than the disciples?!” My mom patiently listened in the way that only a mother can as I disassembled the entire way I thought about the church and finally faced my insurmountable disappointment in an institution that I had so readily put my trust in.
When I entered college three years ago, there was nothing I loved more than telling people, “Yes, I’m a Christian.” I endured scoffing and jokes from my agnostic and atheist friends, because I thought I knew what a Christian was, and I wore this label proudly. I never understood why being a Christian had such a bad connotation. Until now.
My parents couldn’t comprehend why I was so adamant about attending a Christian university. I remember engaging in fervent discussions about how I wanted to be surrounded by people who were living their lives for Christ, and passionately giving themselves and serving God. I imagined myself curled up in a beanbag chair late at night in a room full of people, drinking coffee, debating theology, and imagining all of the ways that God has called us to actively work and make a difference in this world. (That image may have come from the movie portrayal of college life – who knows). I reassured my parents that moving four hours away and not knowing anyone would be okay, because Christians are a family, and we accept and take care of each other. I knew that God had called me to be a missionary, and I wanted to talk with people who were as passionate as I am about seeing the gospel reach places that have never heard of God’s grace and love.
Well, I was in for a surprise. As someone who hasn’t grown up in a “super-Christian” home, I had no idea how to walk the walk or talk the talk. I couldn’t quote Scripture off the top of my head, and when people asked me what district I was from, I thought they meant school district. I quickly learned to put a mask on, and pretend that I had it all together. I refused to talk about my past, hid my shorts that weren’t the appropriate length at the bottom of my drawer, and never walked down the hallway in my sports bra to the bathroom in our all girls dormitory.
There were no late night discussions, partly due to the fact that we have curfew and boys weren’t allowed in our dorms at certain days and times. Instead of the independence that I wanted moving out of my parent’s house – I felt like I was in middle school again. Instead of feeling included, I had never felt more lonely as people quickly began to form into “cliques” largely based on a denomination which I had no clue even existed before I chose the school. No one invited me to church, so I started going to church by myself every Sunday, afraid to be the “loser girl” who invited herself.
I began to date someone who was deemed one of the “top Christian men” on campus, and found myself in an unhealthy relationship that I continuously justified because of the image he portrayed. I found myself ashamed of the clothes I wore, unable to talk to guys, and forced to stop hanging out with friends who were “bad influences” all because he told me to. And since he was so respected on campus, I obviously was a bad Christian if I disagreed, so I listened to him.
I heard whispers of an “underground” university, where everyone hides their drinking and/or partying because they were fearful of the judgment that would befall them if the “good Christians” knew what their real struggles were. I got to know leaders and well-respected people on campus who would never admit to having a drink with their friend because they knew their positions would be in jeopardy.
I have hopelessly witnessed friend after friend leave this community and even their faith because they were so tired of hiding who they really were. I’ve known people who have hidden their sexuality or struggles with pornography because of the fear of how this community would react. Time after time they were told, “You knew the rules when you came to this university. It’s your job to follow them.” While it’s true that we knew them – this isn’t a job. This isn’t like high school where we go for 8 hours and then come home at the end of the day. This university is our lives for four years. 24/7. People make mistakes. People change. People experience heartbreak, and tragedy, and doubts in their faith. And yet, I feel like there’s no room for that here. People learn to lie and hide who they are – because it’s impossible to uphold a perfect image for almost half a decade of their life unless they learn to pretend.
I read Crazy Love by Francis Chan my freshman year, and I remember stopping and laughing when I read this quote and writing in the side margin ‘sound familiar?’ when I realized how true it can be on this campus.
“Christians are like manure: spread them out and they help everything grow better, but keep them in one big pile and they stink horribly.” – Francis Chan
If being compared to a giant pile of poop isn’t a rude wake up call to Christians, I don’t know what is.
I have seen beautiful things on this campus too. I have watched tough football players break down in chapel and accept Christ into their lives. I’ve been invited into people’s homes and been encouraged and prayed for. I’ve sat around a campfire on a hiking trip and listened to someone be vulnerable and voice their disbelief in God. I believe that God is at work on this campus, and I’ve seen inspiring examples of his love time and time again. I don’t regret coming to this university, because perhaps in a way that wasn’t even intentional, my faith has grown in ways that I never imagined. And I’ve met some pretty amazing people along the way.
I understand that the rules are sometimes necessary, and they have definitely kept me in line a time or two. The problem is when we gradually become more concerned about the rules than the people the rules were created for.
And the ironic thing is, I’m being judgmental too. I become a hypocrite when I judge people who I deem are critical and narrow-minded, because I’m doing the exact same thing that I so harshly accuse them of. However, without challenging each other, I don’t think that growth is possible.
I’m tired of people being told they’re going to hell or that they’re a disappointment if they go out and have a few drinks with their friends, or happen to like the same sex – all because of a few verses that are taken out and used as a weapon to slap people on the wrist when they step out of line. I could easily pick out a few verses from the Bible that forbid eating shell fish or women teaching in the church. Kind of how Christians in the 1800’s picked out verses that condone slavery.
The world already tells us that we’re broken. That we should be ashamed. That we’re not enough. I just have a feeling that the church is supposed to be saying something else.
All I’m suggesting is the Bible isn’t as black and white as we sometimes make it out to be. I believe that the Bible is God’s love letter to us, and that is unimaginably powerful and beautiful. But I also think that it’s more complex than a list of rules that says who’s in and who’s out.
Maybe it’s time for Christians to be okay with not being okay. And time to start being real. Real with their doubts. Honest about their struggles. Whether it be pride, pornography, or partying. We’re in this together ya’ll. Let’s start acting like it.
peacefullylost 