What if the truth came out?

Life constantly poses us multiple “what-ifs”. Most of the time, they’re nothing to be taken too seriously: what if I wore the red shirt instead of the blue one, what if I decide to buy 3-ply instead of 2-ply toilet paper, what if my house burns down because I left my slow cooker unattended (apparently, despite Crock Pot's slogan of "cooks all day while the cook's away", this is a legitimate concern held by many individuals)… And then, there are some that raise more interest or concern: what if my crush finds out I like them, what if a loved one receives a terrible diagnosis, what if I can’t find a job after graduation…

The one that’s been bothering me in recent months is: What if I renounced my commitment to Christ? In other words: What if I stopped following Jesus?

Putting this out on the table, I’ve been anticipating a plethora of reactions such as: “but, you were so happy, and full of love for the Lord…” or “well, guess you’re rejecting the truth, guess we’ll be going separate ways on judgment day…” or “good, those weirdo Christians changed you, girl…” or “great, you’re a narcissistic, attention-seeking twat and we don’t want you around here anyway…”

Each of those just lends fuel to the renouncement fire. I’m not happy, or full of love for the Lord. I’m pretty miserable, and feel like my every move and word is being intensely scrutinized by a “community” of faith (note: as in Christians in general, not directed at a specific subset of people within that larger group) that seems to be more concerned with getting another “YES!” to Jesus that the genuineness, strength, conviction, and sustainability behind that little word. I've been thinking for months now, "Helen, this really isn't working out, you're not cut out to follow Jesus, you should just pack it in and renounce your faith entirely so at least you're not disappointing anyone". I’m a failure, a fake, and a fraud. I fucked up. And oh boy, I can just hear the chorus of “but we’re all failures and Jesus still loves us all infinitely so you go back to him and repent right now!” potentially followed by “what if Jesus comes back tomorrow? Would you be going to heaven?”

What if he doesn’t? If he came back last week, or even last year, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have ended up with him for all eternity had that been the case.

After pondering that what-if, I realized: I have no commitment to renounce. I never said “yes” to Jesus in the first place. I was never asked that question. I never made that commitment. I'd been motivated to do "good" only by the selfish desires of my own flesh.

“But, you went to retreats, and conferences, and on mission trips”

Yes, I did.

“But, you go to church”

Yes, I do.

“But, you led a Bible study, and were on leadership in student ministry”

Yes, I did/was.

“But, you’ve preached sermons in churches, and shared your testimony”

Yes, I have.

Remarkable.

I was baptized as a baby, never got confirmed, never gave a profession of faith, was never re-baptized as an adult, and was also never asked to commit my life to Christ, yet over the past 2 years, have found myself in circumstances not unlike those of the most textbook Christian person you’ve ever met.

Two and a half years ago, after a summer of seeing people I loved and respected living out their faith in really powerful ways, and after a school year of struggling with a merciless case of panic disorder, I figured, “what the heck, I’ll try this Christianity thing out, give it a serious go, what have I got to lose”. Secretly, I was also incredibly lonely. My appetite for company and social activities had always been insatiable. Having an anxiety disorder where I was unable to leave the house on most days, coupled with a history of depression and self-loathing made me scream out for attention and cling to every last thread of "love" I could grasp, just as a reminder that I was still here, still human, and still worth having some kind of interaction with. I wanted to get close to God. First, I got close to people who were close to God. They were all lovely, and I could tell that they wanted to love and nurture me and see me do well. And, filled with fear of disappointing them, I became engrossed in every Jesusy thing I possibly could. I went to Bible study, large groups, retreats, I prayed, I read my Bible, I started going to church after 3 years of essentially boycotting it. I just wanted these people to like me.

I also did experience God, tangible things like when he showed me he had the power to take away my panic attacks, which resulted in me going to Bangladesh, where he showed me a lot of other really cool things that deepened my perspective and compassion for other members of the human race. The last two and a half years have certainly not been in vain! I’ve never not believed that he is real. I’ve questioned whether he is good, and what is important to him, and whether he cares about me, or has other priorities, but he definitely has proven to me that he is real. My relationship with and understanding of him as Lord has waned and waxed over the years, but I believe in my heart and mind that he exists.

Being in community with people you’re trying to impress and get to like you is hard. It’s also stupid. You feel like you never measure up to anyone’s standards—those of others, God, and yourself. You’re not being true to anyone—others, God, or yourself. I felt pressured from all sides to do whatever I had to do to check all the boxes of what a “good Christian” would do, thinking that would land me in the good books of all these people in the community that held power and influence socially speaking. Heck, best case scenario, appearing as a good, Christian woman might even land me a good, Christian man—then all my loneliness issues would be solved for good, right? (Can you see how flawed my logic is?) I committed to events and gatherings that I didn’t want to commit to, I prayed about things aloud that I didn’t care about, I faked an interest in people’s lives just to make polite conversation, I tried to make my story more exciting and dramatic than it was, just so I wasn’t a drone who seemed to have no reason or passion to be where I was, I gave money to ministry projects and missions, just to try and prove to myself that I was seriously not lying about any of this, I dabbled in realms of spiritual giftings, and felt shamed when I couldn’t produce words, or images, or visions during prayers, or speak in tongues on command. I stretched my perception of the truth to include something spiritual, to convince myself and others that I shared an intimate connection with the Lord.

I was a fraud.

I felt dirty on the inside and like I didn’t belong anywhere. People were getting upset with me and wondering what was up, and my non-Christian friends were like, “girl, you’ve changed” and I felt like I couldn’t talk to them anymore because I was too ashamed to even see eye-to-eye with them, and wished this whole Christianity thing had never happened because I was even worse off now than when I started. I just wanted these people to like me.

And I’d failed.

A quote that I’ve been reminded of as I’ve gone through this debacle in my head is this:

“Whatever you are, be a good one.” – Abraham Lincoln

Maybe it’s not biblical, but it’s consistent with the all-or-nothing mentality that I’ve learned about following Jesus. I don’t want to be a Christian if I can’t truthfully be a good one. I don’t want to say I’m following Jesus when I’m not. I don’t want to lie. I want to be able to be fully honest about what I need and what I’m experiencing without facing judgment or scrutiny. That last one seems impossible in many Christian circles. I can already see people praying for me to realize the truth and accept Jesus as my Lord and Saviour before it’s too late. I honestly and truthfully appreciate such concern for my eternal fate, but could you please cool your jets for a second. You can breathe down my neck, or down anyone’s neck all you want, cornering and shaming them to say “yes” to accepting and following Jesus, but what kind of follower does that create? Certainly one who views God as vengeful and angry, who magnifies guilt and shame, and not ONE WHO UNDERSTANDS HOW MUCH GOD LOVES THEM SINCE HE SACRIFICED HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON IN ORDER TO WASH THEIR SINS AWAY AND DWELL WITH THEM IN HIS HOUSE FOR ALL ETERNITY.

THAT is the God I want to worship.

THAT is the God I want to know.

THAT is the God I believe in.

Until I know I can make an honest and sustainable commitment to Christ, and not a spur-of-the-moment, what-the-heck, I’m-going-to-make-this-person-watch-me-pray-this-prayer-because-I-want-them-to-see-that-I’m-(not)-serious forged statement of belief and action, I won’t, plain and simple. I don’t know when the time for making that commitment will come, but until it does, I’m assured that God is waiting patiently, lovingly, and wanting nothing but my best in exchange for his. I really do hope that someday I will make the decision to take up my cross and follow Jesus, and that someday I'll get in a space where I'll love myself enough to accept that I'm worth it and he loves me.  I suspect I’m not the only closet tag-along-er just trying to be around people, either. (I think we should start a support/discussion group. I also really think I’m being totally serious about that.)

I know that God is the only good thing in my life, and that he is walking with me, and that he is ready to move with me, guiding me, when I’m ready to say yes to move. If I’m going to be lonely and miserable and angsty for the rest of my life, I’d much rather be those things with God than without him.

Loneliness, anxiety, and depression are all bitter pills to swallow. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t believe that prayer makes them magically go away. What does help, however, is taking steps towards God, being in his presence, and trusting when he says that life is valuable, purposeful, and his gift to us and those around us.

Welp, maybe this post has been slightly controversial. I’ve been reading a lot of classic literature lately (you too can return to reading actual books and not textbooks upon graduation!), and I’d like to close with this gem from my favourite literary heroine:

“Tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it.” – Anne Shirley

(Technicalities, Miss Stacey technically owns this quote, and despite also loving her and always wishing I could have a teacher like her, my grade 2-3 teacher went by the same name and I feel she never particularly liked me...)

Operation rebuild faith: phase one.