Why Do I Believe?

Do you ever find yourself wondering exactly why you believe in God? Or maybe someone's asked you that question out of nowhere and you've found yourself stammering "Um, uh, I just kinda do."

Lately I've been asking myself that question, and it seems that there are many possible answers. Unfortunately, none of them really seem to sum it all up properly.

There's the easy answer - "I was raised that way."

It's true, I was brought up a Christian. I asked Jesus into my heart at 3 and received both a water baptism and the baptism of the Holy Spirit in the next few years. I was active in children's church and youth groups.

But at some point it stopped being my parent's religion. At some point I felt the need to critique what I had been taught and decide if I really wanted to adopt it as my own. As it turns out, I did choose to hang on to it, at least the basic stuff. I still believe in God three in one. I believe in Jesus came as the Son of God, fully man and fully divine. I believe in his virgin birth, his death on the cross, his resurrection after three days and his ascendancy to heaven. I believe the Bible is inspired by God.

Even though I do still believe much of what I was taught, it's no longer blind belief in what my parent's have told me. I have examined its merits for myself, making the decision to adopt it as my own system of faith.

There's the default answer - "Well, everyone's gotta believe something."

This answer fails to capture the deliberate nature of how I decided what to believe. I didn't just flip a coin and say "Heads I believe in God, tails I don't." I didn't throw a dart at a chart of all possible belief systems.

While I'm very aware of the fact that I don't have all the answers, I do think that a belief in God lines up best with what I believe to be true. Based on what experience I have, I am rather convinced that some sort of divine presence exists. And this being known as "God" or "I AM" seems to be the best representation.

There's the ignorant and arrogant answer - "I know what I know what I know is true. You can't tell me different."

Maybe it's just me, but this kind of close-minded answer seems to do more harm than good. It's fine to have faith in something, but when you can't have a reasonable discourse about it there might be a problem. I think the core of this belief is insecurity. You cling to it with all your might, afraid that if you question one little tenet it all may come crumbling down. At that point, I honestly think it's better to let it crumble.

There's the empirical belief - "Well, this theory proves this and that proves that, so therefore there must be a God."

Yeah, yeah, I've done that whole creationism thing. Truth be told, I still do believe in the literal Genesis account. But if God were to show up tomorrow and tell me that it was just a story to kind of sum up all that happened, my belief system wouldn't be wrecked.

I understand people can have a hard time admitting that they "just believe something". It doesn't exactly sound intellectual. But I find that one of the greatest things about believing in God is the mystery and wonder that comes along with it. I don't have anything close to all the answers, or even most of them. There's a lot I just plain don't know. But I'm learning to like it that way.

What's my real answer?

I'm still trying to figure that out. I can't describe exactly why I believe in God, or why I believe He's good and gracious and kind and loving.

I believe in him the same way I believe that love is more than a chemical reaction in the brain. There have been times in my life that it seemed that something deep within me was reacting to something eternal and vast.

I believe that our five senses can only hint at what's really out there, that what we call reality is in many ways just a shadow of what's really there. I believe that the Unknowable is inviting us to know him, that the Unfathomable is reaching out arms to hug us.

I believe that joy and wonder have been placed deep within our hearts for a reason, that we are made to experience and rejoice in beauty. I believe that the longings deep within our souls are real, and that they were made to be satisfied.

I believe.

Wine Tastings and Honesty

Yesterday a friend turned 30 and a bunch of us went out to brunch to celebrate. Her husband had also rented an eight-passenger van, so after brunch several of us piled in and went to sample some wines by Cayuga Lake.

Since I'm a whopping 143 pounds and never built up a tolerance for alcohol, the constant sampling caused me to become slightly tipsy. Okay, I was probably drunk. First time ever, woo-hoo!!

My memory of that time is a little hazy, but I do remember laughing a lot, talking loudly, and being generally rambunctious and boisterous. Okay, I was probably horribly inappropriate and I may owe them all a blanket apology.

But it was good. Like, really good. It was just a lot of fun with some of my best friends. And at one point I realized that the alcohol had completely compromised whatever filter exists between my mind and my mouth. Every random thought I had was immediately verbalized, regardless of it's merit.

And now, the following morning, I am resisting the impulse to rake myself over the coals for it. I tend to do that after I've spent time with people (even completely sober). I go through my mental recording of everything I said and did and then I chastise myself for my stupidity. I second-guess everything, beating myself up for just not keeping my mouth shut.

But somehow, in the midst of all the craziness, there were some incredibly honest conversations. Already established friendships found deeper roots, the importance of our presence in each others' lives was verbalized and confirmed.

Maybe I don't really need more of a filter. Maybe I need less of one. I try so hard to control other people's perception of me that I sometimes wonder if they even have the chance to know me at all. My ego and fragile self-esteem hinder my attempts to be authentic and vulnerable. I try to keep all my messiness hidden beneath a veneer of having it all together.

And that's a lie. I don't have it together, even a little. But maybe community isn't a bunch of perfect people being perfect together. Maybe it's a bunch of us screw-ups peeling back our masks and tentatively showing our true faces. Maybe it's the surprising grace that meets us there, the disarming unconditional acceptance.

Maybe I can make a fool of myself, a wine-buzzed blathering idiot. But what's most pathetic is that I can't be that honest all the time. Sure, there's much to be said for wisdom and discernment. There's a time to speak and a time to be silent. But I want to be part of real community, even if that means peaking out from behind the mask so others can see me, warts and all.

So c'mon, open up another bottle of wine. Here's to great friends.

Let's Try This Again

Shoot, has it been that long since I posted something here? I have a number of drafts, maybe I should brush off and post a couple of those. I can't make excuses for not posting, other than I just didn't feel like it.

So, 2011 has sucked so far. Winter is generally a haze of unmotivated depression for me anyway, and the 180 inches of snow we got this year really didn't help. In February I had an appendectomy and right before Easter I lost my grandmother.

I also haven't been doing very well in my interactions with other people. I keep finding myself trying to manipulate their perception of who I am. And quite frankly, I've spent much of the past several months just being angry and bitter. I feel stuck, trapped, weighed down by the burden of just making my way through life. I'm frustrated that I haven't moved beyond this scene, that I haven't grown out of this phase. Maturity seems as reachable as Jupiter.

And yet, last Friday during a time of worship with friends, I felt as if God was reassuring me of his promise that I would know his love. He seems to make a habit of that, speaking of love when I am most unlovable.

The odd thing is that I feel almost ashamed to still be focused on Father's love, affection, and grace. Aren't these such elementary concepts? Shouldn't someone who has been a Christian their entire life have moved beyond this by now? I look at others who are focused on things like social justice and making a tangible impact in the lives of others. Why can't I be more like them? Why am I doing 2nd grade math homework when my peers have moved on to string theory? I feel as if my pursuit of a greater understanding of God's love and grace is self-indulgent, while other pursuits are more noble and selfless.

There I go again, losing sight of what (and who) is important. Why must I continually compare my own journey to those around me? Is a left rib envious of the right hand?

I wonder what Father's reaction is like each time I get all anxious and stressed out about this stuff. Does he shake his head in disappointment? Does he keep walking on so that I have to run to catch up? Does he gently smile and sit down in the dirt next to me as I pound my fists and feet against the ground while throwing a fit? Does he wait until I've exhausted myself before pulling me into his arms and cleaning my dirty, tear-streaked face? Does he again take my hand as we walk together, taking small steps to match my stumbling pace?

Well, this was somewhat uncomfortable. But it was honest, and I guess that's why I do this. Father, your love is so humbling. Thank you.