Apparently, asking questions was not okay. That’s what was confirmed for me recently in an online conversation with some of my Christian brothers and sisters as we discussed some weighty doctrinal/theological issues. In one of my posts, I began asking questions about the nature of the Bible. These were questions, mind you, not statements. They focused on the limitations and brokenness central to being a human and how this affects our ability to comprehend and/or apply what we read as well as how it may have affected those who helped shape the biblical canon. I asked how we can be certain that our English translations of ancient writings rendered in old languages for which we have no original manuscripts are accurate representations of God’s Word. Such questions struck a nerve.

This was especially the case with one participant. His response was, I’m sure in his opinion, “loving.” He was concerned about the condition of my soul. He was worried my salvation was at risk. To him, even asking these questions represented a crisis of faith. But I didn’t see it that way. In fact, I felt (and feel) secure in my relationship with God and in my posture as a follower of Jesus. I was just asking questions… logical, important questions. But such questions, for this gentleman (and others), meant I may not be matching up with evangelical orthodoxy.

Last week’s TS10 playlist is likely one of my favorites thus far. Can’t explain it… but it touches me deeply. And one of the songs that particularly impacts me is Andrew Howie‘s Post. According to Howie’s site, the song’s title was inspired by the title of Dave Tomlinson’s book The Post Evangelical. Post  is an autobiographical manifesto of Howie’s divorce from evangelicalism. Every time I listen to it, my heart is broken anew… for several reasons.

The very first line of the song is telling. And it resonates with me deeply in light of the question-asking situation mentioned above.

Goodbye evangelical certainty…

I’ve gone through most of my life highly regarding “certainty.” Much of that certainty revolved around statements like “the Bible clearly teaches that…” While I believe there is much in the Bible that’s as clear as a window, I also have come to see how I have been “certain” about other issues and “teachings” in the Bible that aren’t so clear. And I’ve found the only way I can maintain my certainty about the “clarity” of those muddier concepts is by ensuring I am surrounded by people who agree with that certainty. As I continue to follow Jesus, I am finding the weakness of such “safety in numbers.”

I’ve had more than my share of this safety in numbers

And strong certainties

I choose to live in a dangerous world

Where I know I am free

“I choose to live in a dangerous world…” Yes. Yes, please. For me, and my guess is for others as well, certainty brings a sense of safety and security. Certainty can be insulation from the dangerous and the unknown. But what if God, in his infinite wisdom, does not value certainty in the human experience as much as my evangelical family and I do? What if such certainty actually draws us away from mystery and from a need to pursue him, letting him be our safety and security amid uncertainty, danger, and the unknown? I am becoming more and more convinced a life following Jesus is a life lived on the “slippery slope.” It is a life of questions, risk, challenge, and “out on a limb.” It is a life in which certainties are few.

Even as I write these words, I can feel the inward tension of feeling the eyes of my evangelical brothers and sisters watching me, categorizing me, judging me. Asking questions and living in uncertainty are taboo for us evangelicals. They make us look, dare I say it, “liberal.”

So don’t tell me your stories

And don’t sing me your songs

And don’t presume that you know me

And that it’s me who’s in the wrong

And why would questioning things be problematic? Why would choosing to live with a measure of uncertainty rankle some of my church-going friends? I will not pretend to know what goes on in someone else’s heart and mind. But, based on what I have observed and experienced personally, I can take an educated stab at why these things are deemed dangerous or unsavory: fear. We are afraid that maybe we don’t have everything figured out just right. We are afraid to be wrong. Sometimes, I think, we are afraid to think. But even these statements reveal only symptoms and not a root cause. What is the root cause of such fear? Let me suggest this… the illusion of certainty and the aversion to critical thinking and questioning may be rooted in a lack of actual faith. What if God is not big enough to handle our questions? What if our intellectual meanderings reveal there is an element of our belief that is false or questionable? Again this is all rooted in fear.

Fear may well be the beginnings of wisdom and love

But I don’t want to be afraid anymore

The fear that leads to wisdom is not the same as the fear I’m talking about. Healthy fear involves a reverence for God, an acknowledgement of how awesome and great he is. Regardless, Howie’s expression of being done with fear resonates deeply with me. Like him, I don’t want to be afraid anymore. The kind of fear I’m talking about only leads to an illusory sense of safety.

And it leads to the creation of unnecessary rules and structures. Jesus consistently confronted the religious leaders for their habit of loading extra burdens on the backs of people who are seeking God. Unfortunately, I’ve seen time and again how, instead of following Jesus, us evangelicals have followed the ways of his religious opponents. Don’t dance. Don’t listen to rock music. Don’t wear jeans to church. Don’t play cards. Don’t drink alcohol. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. I’ve been hollered at for violating any number of rules, both explicit and implicit, that have nothing to do with what God wants and everything to do with bolstering an unauthentic security.

Goodbye cookie-cutters and Sunday schools

How can I be part of this game if I don’t play by your rules

As I consider these words, my heart hurts. Cookie-cutter methodology, in terms of how to “do church” or what it means for an individual to follow Jesus, has nothing to do with authentic Christian spirituality. There’s nothing wrong with Sunday school, but like Howie, I know that Sunday school has been the arena for fear-reinforcing dynamics. And the question, “How can I be part of this game if I don’t play by your rules?” Wow… that question has swirled through my mind and heart in various forms since I was a kid.

Can’t you see that the gossip, the grudges, the violence

Have taken their toll

Gossip. Grudges. Violence. Three dynamics which should be foreign to Jesus’ church… Three behaviors that are in fact diametrically opposed to the way of Jesus. And yet, they live in the church. Sometimes, they thrive more than faith, hope, and/or love. They are the fruit of fear.

I gossip because I want to feel better about myself and the choices I’ve made. I want to feel better about myself because I am afraid… afraid that I’m not good enough, that I won’t measure up, that I won’t be loved. I hold grudges for much the same reason. Grudges give me a sense of control, which once again makes me feel better and elevates me over the other person. Violence is about me forcing my will on the victim. Again, this makes me feel bigger and better. Gossip, grudges, and violence are the fruit of fear and they are destructive. Unfortunately, it feels as though these dynamics are the rule for many of us evangelicals rather than the exception.

 I choose to escape from the clutches of your good intentions

And save my own soul

And this is where  my heart breaks the most. As I listen to Post, I find myself time and again walking the same path Andrew Howie describes so vividly and poignantly. I hate the fear. I hate the cookie cutters… the rules… the gossip… the grudges… the violence. It would seem a common response to want to walk away from these destructive dynamics. I certainly do, no matter how they may be rooted in someone’s “good intentions.” But where my path diverges from Howie’s is in that second line.

Simply put, I cannot save my own soul. I need Jesus. Yes, he is my crutch (as many critics of Christianity have suggested). I am not ashamed of that reality, because Jesus is actually more than that. He is my life. He is the breath in my lungs and the beat of my heart. Without him, I can do nothing, let alone save my own soul.

Does walking away from the “clutches of (the evangelical church’s) good intentions” mean walking away from Jesus? I don’t think so. And I think that’s a worthy discussion point. Even though, quite literally, my greatest pain has come from within the “walls” of the church, that pain has not alienated me from Jesus. In fact, what I’m finding is it only compels me to connect with him more deeply. That pain reveals how deeply I need him.

Church wounds cut deeply because in the context of a church community we would (and should) expect to experience the love and grace of God. The community of people which make up “church” are to be an expression of these things here and now. We are to be God’s representatives to each other. So, when in our frailties and fear, someone within the church hurts me, it can feel as though God himself is wounding me.

But Jesus is greater than the church. And he is bigger than my wounds. He stands above my fear and grasps for control. In fact, I am naive enough to believe his love is so transformative  that all of these ugly church dynamics can be addressed. The church can be transformed. I believe there is hope for the church (even us evangelicals).

Who is that walking towards me as I

Leave these sinking ships

Beckoning me ever forward

With a whisper on her lips

There is more than this

As I listened to these words the first few times, I wasn’t sure what Howie was describing here. And while I still cannot state for certain that I “get it,” I can say the “her” mentioned feels a lot like the “sister wisdom” of the Proverbs.  If that’s the identity of this mysterious woman, then I find myself, once again, on the path with Howie. I cannot turn off my brain (or my heart) when it comes to the ills within American evangelicalism. I cannot ignore how easily we set aside the call to love because of our insecurities and need to be right. And these things lead me to that slippery slope I mentioned above. The only way I can stand with any sense of sure-footing in that place is if God grants me wisdom. I wholeheartedly agree with the sentiment that wisdom is calling out to us and whispering in our ears, “There’s more than this.” And as Howie and I (and others) branch out from the seemingly but illusory “safe and secure,” we need the companionship of Lady Wisdom.

So, as I take my own post-evangelical journey, I ask God humbly to provide that companion. I, like Howie, am ready to stand on the slippery slope of “I don’t know.” I am ready to admit my limitations as a human being and confess the mystery of God is greater than my little brain can handle. I am thankful that Jesus not only provides security while standing in uncertainty, but that he is beckoning me to follow him as he guides me on this path.