By the power of the Spirit (Jn. 3:3), you come to know the love of the Father (2 Cor. 5:18-19) and embrace the gospel—that good news that your sins are forgiven by the death, burial, and resurrection of the Son (1 Cor. 15:1-4). Further, your life grows to reflect a genuine heart for God—one that evidences your claim to be a follower of Jesus Christ.
That’s what it means to become a Christian. And miraculously, despite the church, that’s what I became. Here’s my story.
I was born, and raised in small-town, rural, southern New Jersey by two parents who loved me but were not on the same page spiritually. My mom, a Lutheran minister’s daughter, was the regular church-goer; my dad, a self-proclaimed agnostic.
My mom did her best to take me to church from day one and my earliest recollections include playing games in Sunday School, attending Vacation Bible School (VBS) at my United Methodist aunt’s church, and my mom’s pastor putting his hand on my head while all the adults got a white Styrofoam-looking wafer and drink.
One unpleasant memory stands out when I was five-years-old. I was helping my dad build a wooden chest, and my mom called me to get ready for church. I started to cry because I wanted to stay with my dad which, then, brought my mom to tears because she wanted me to go with her. Apparently, there was a lot of tension between my mom and dad regarding church because my dad lit into me and spanked me—something he rarely did—for making my mom cry. I wondered why I was so severely disciplined. I just wanted to be with my dad.
When I was seven, a definite change took place in our household. Through the efforts of a nearby church, my mom and later even my dad (an interesting story for another day) made professions of faith, and together started attending an independent Baptist church. It was a busy, programmatic culture with something going on almost every night. I remember they had an acronym for JOY:
- J—Jesus first
- O—others second
- Y—yourself last
Interestingly, the church and all its programs were viewed as part of the “J—Jesus first.” And, the “Y—yourself last” part was interpreted in a way that eliminated healthy boundaries, personal preferences, and individual expression. They wanted clones—the kind that don’t think deeply or question—to do “God’s kingdom work,” defined narrowly as the church’s program and whatever else the pastor and his wife wanted. There was little time to mow your lawn, enjoy hobbies, vacation, or even be a good neighbor because it was more important to win souls. After all, people were dying and going to hell and, if you didn’t warn them, their blood would be on your hands:
“When I say unto the wicked, Thou shalt surely die; and thou givest him not warning, nor speakest to warn the wicked from his wicked way, to save his life; the same wicked man shall die in his iniquity; but his blood will I require at thine hand.” (Ezekiel 3:18, KJV)
The salvation of the world was squarely in your hands, not God’s, ignoring one of the central tenets of biblical Christianity (Jonah 2:9; Rev. 7:10).
The Ezekiel verse was quoted regularly to motivate members with fear and guilt. It created a sense of urgency where you could never relax. The person in the checkout line, for example, might go to hell if you didn’t preach to them or give them a tract (a tract is Christian in-house language for a pamphlet on why you need Jesus). God wasn’t someone to have a relationship with or be enjoyed. He was the all-knowing, all-seeing evangelism task master with a whip who was only pleased when you performed well. Like our authoritarian pastor, he wanted church initiatives—especially “soul-winning”—to be at the center of your life and the primary way you spent your time.
Meanwhile, God was using my father’s father, an agnostic and someone very dear to me, to teach me to think. He told me that the only reason I was a Christian was because I was born in America. If I was born in the Middle East, I’d be a Muslim. In other words, ones’ religious belief is determined more by geography and cultural conditioning than the merits of the belief itself.
We played chess during my summers and, when I was fifteen, he gave me Bertrand Russell’s Ninety Reasons Why I Am Not a Christian. Still going to the same Baptist church, my pastor gave me another book by Henry Morris called Science Speaks to counter some of my grandfather and Russell’s arguments. I learned from both books but found the arguments for Christianity stronger. It was my grandfather, however—more than any other person—who helped me cultivate my mind and learn courage to ask honest questions, convictions that are vital parts of my ministry today.
Sadly, back in the church world, things grew more and more toxic. I’ll tell you about that next week.