“Today I Quit Being a Christian” – Conclusion

In Parts 1 and 2 of this post, I wrote that I felt aversion, empathy, shame, and frustration reading Anne Rice’s choice to “quit being a Christian.” As my heart pitched back and forth between these emotions, I came at last, thank God, to a feeling of hope.

In today’s world, the words “Christian” and “Christianity” may have negative connotations, deservedly or not. However, the Church at its core is not a set of rules, an ideology, or a political position. It is a bunch of sinners who are struggling toward their theosis, or complete communion with Jesus Christ in all that he is.

One of the beauties of the Church is that it has resisted pulling out any sacramental scissors to excise those portions of Scripture that might damage its “holy” reputation. Instead, the Church’s shortcomings are there for anyone to read. I can still find the passage where St. Paul instructs the believers,

Be renewed in the spirit of your mind…put on the new man which was created according to God, in true righteousness and holiness.

Therefore, putting away lying, let each one of you speak truth with his neighbor, for we are members of one another. Be angry, and do not sin: do not let the sun go down on your wrath, nor give place to the devil.

Let him who stole steal no longer, but rather let him labor, working with his hands what is good, that he may have something to give him who has need.

Let no corrupt word proceed out of your mouth, but what is good for necessary edification, that it may impart grace to the hearers.

And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, by whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Let all bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, and evil speaking be put away from you, with all malice. And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God in Christ forgave you. (Ephesians 4:23-32)

That Paul needed to mention any of this to people he addressed as “saints and faithful in Christ Jesus” reveals the fact that the Church never stops requiring constant repentance and conversion to truly follow her Lord. It keeps me honest, if not humble, to choose to live in tension between these two realities.

In this world the Church will always contend with scandals, quarrels, skunks, and quacks. Furthermore, those of us who want to adhere to Christ are only in the process of becoming like him, and often we fall far short of his glory. No one is yet a Christian in the full meaning of the word.

Mercifully, Christ is devoted to purifying this ragtag group he audaciously insists on calling his Body and his Bride. Jesus’ all-consuming love for his Church gives me the hope that he will transform my life within the context of that messy yet glorious Body.

The final analysis of who is a genuine follower of Christ’s Way does not come from me, Anne Rice, the Conservative Christian Right, the Democratic Party, the Pope in Rome, or the Orthodox Patriarch of Constantinople. God has given ultimate judgment solely to the One who laid his life down for the sins of the whole world.

In the face of both the mercy and judgment of Christ, an ancient prayer said on bended knee is most appropriate:

“We believe that thou shall come to be our Judge; we therefore pray thee, help thy servants whom thou hast redeemed with thy precious blood. Make us to be numbered with thy saints in glory everlasting.” (from the Te Deum)

Homage to Mercy

The slogan of my blog site is: “Writings of a fellow voyager in search of wisdom.” The first article, Blogsite Purpose, referred to “a desire to entrust the ambiguities of being to the God whom I believe fashioned the depths and intricacies of human life.” A large mouthful, that statement. It alludes to a lifetime of wrestling with what it means to be human. Most authors do not write in a vacuum, personal or otherwise, and the essays you read here are shaped out of my particular milieu. What has your “fellow voyager” experienced that drives her reflections? Perhaps a glimpse into my history will help you better understand my line of thought. More importantly, whatever differences exist between my life and yours, I hope that portions of what I share will strike a chord within you.

I have lived in the West “where the mountains touch the sky” and in the Southwest where the sky touches the sand. I’ve propelled skinny white legs down school halls filled with the lush brown skin of Native Americans. I have lived in the Bible Belt where fundamentalism cinched me up a little too tightly and in the Pacific Northwest where the rain completely suited my mood. I’ve spent summers with my parents pitching a tent across America. I have ridden my ATV in the deserts of Utah and maneuvered it along Colorado’s mountain cliffs.

I have huddled with Navajo buddies in Anasazi ruins unknown to archaeologists and passed working elephants sauntering along the roads of Thailand. I’ve body-surfed ocean waves of Bali and played a trumpet-harpsichord duet with a Catholic monk in Northern Sulawesi. I have knelt in awe before the gigantic mosaic of Christ in Paris’ Sacre Coeur Cathedral and eaten strawberry torte in a German Konditerei. I’ve slept in a thatched-roof Dutch cottage and craned my neck at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. I have made love with my husband in a Swiss army barracks and sipped local wine in the Alpine village where my ancestors lived.

I have survived emotional, sexual, and spiritual abuse, narrowly escaped drowning, paraplegia, and suicide. I’ve spent years in psychotherapy, ultimately coming to accept chronic depression and the medication it requires. I’ve wished to belong then longed to jump off the grid. I have broken my dignity trying to fix broken loves. I’ve been abandoned by people and betrayed a few in turn. I have been bereaved of, estranged from, and reunited with family. I’ve been blessed with friends who teach me to laugh, hope, and dare.

I have feared men only to come to love one deeply. I’ve relinquished my girlish dreams to marry the man of my woman’s heart. I’ve learned that passion ebbs and flows, while committed affection endures. I have surrendered the possibility of bearing children and nurtured our two mothers in their old age.

I’ve been fiercely devoted to Christ and fiercely angry with him. I have believed Christianity was the best faith going and yet questioned its validity. I’ve loved the Church and been thoroughly irritated with her. I have endured hangovers from getting drunk on Pentecostal youth revivals and seminary theological debates. I’ve been bathed in healing that I can only attribute to the Holy Spirit.

I have dropped out of a missionary vocation, showed up too late for an academic career, and returned to writing, my first love. I’ve been addicted to religiosity, obsessed with being correct, and humbled by the earthy insight of a Desert Mother. I have tempered my conservative politics, embraced the sensuality of music, danced naked alone in a meadow, prayed in tongues, and wept during Holy Mass. I’ve been forced to confront my shortcomings and cajoled into acknowledging I might be a saint in the making. I have been sustained by a Divine Mercy beyond logic or comprehension. In spite of all, and because of all, it is good to be human, it is good to be alive.