Civilized Christianity: Rockin’ the Bad Rep

No smoking. No drinking. No drugs. No sex. No cursing. No gambling. No partying. Regular church attendance is required. You must read your Bible everyday. Never question church authority. Do not offend anybody who does not share your beliefs. Rules, rules, RULES! Rules are all of which the church is composed, according to outsiders AND insiders. Churches only care about rules, regulations, judging others, and shoving God down people’s throats. That is the mindset of the world today. Christianity has becoming civilized, letting rules filter into faith, putting the Christian beliefs into a mold and forcing everyone who becomes a believer to fit into that mold. In America, this religion has earned a bad reputation among its people.
Before you read on any further, please understand first of all that I myself am a follower of Jesus. The following is not meant to disrespect Christianity in any way, shape, or form. This is meant to bring to light the atrocity we as Christians have created, this “religion” on which we stamp God’s name. In fact, we are not even called on to be “Christians,” but to be disciples. “Go into all the world and make disciples of all nations…” (Matthew 28:18). The term “Christian” was meant to be a derogatory label, meaning “little Christ.” The Romans would call the disciples this, mocking them for following a man who was “dead.” The disciples disregarded all the jeers, though, because they were too passionate about their calling. We as a congregation have become civilized in living out our faith. Back when Christ had just ascended into Heaven, His disciples immediately went out into the world and started spreading the Gospel. They went into every town they came across and taught whoever would listen to them about our Savior and His miraculous works, then they would give Jesus’ command to whomever chose to believe.
What about now? Do we as believers go out into the world and evangelize? For the majority of us, no. We sit in our pews every Sunday morning, sing the hymns, listen to the preacher do a sermon on being the salt and light of the world, greet everyone as we leave, then go home for lunch and a nap. (McManus, The Barbarian Way) It’s the same old routine each and every week. During the weekdays, we gossip, lie, try to impress our coworkers and classmates, and otherwise conform to the ways of this world. We say we are “Christians,” but where is the evidence? Just because we go to a building with a steeple and a preacher does not automatically make us God’s children. We do not go out and spread the word of God like we are called to do.
Why do we act this way? Why do we not live like Jesus every day? There are multiple reasons, some of which are fear, laziness, and false identity. We are afraid of what our friends, family, acquaintances, and even strangers will think of us if we proclaim publicly the name of Jesus. We are hesitant to even bring up His name in a one-on-one conversation. So we hide behind superficial topics. We have no problem talking about clothes, people, classes, the opposite sex, the weekend, but God forbid if the subject of religion comes up. When that subject comes up, we quickly spit out, “Oh, I’m a Christian,” all the while praying that the other person does not start making assumptions about our lives. Here is what our label should really be: pansy. We will not walk up to a random stranger and ask him if he knows what salvation is. We are too scared of others’ opinions about us that we will not take our Bibles to work or school with us; we will not even pray before a meal if we think someone might notice us. Sometimes, though, it is not fear that stands in our way of truly living; it is pure laziness. The fire has died out. Passion has given way to sloth. The mindset has changed from, “I wonder what God will reveal to me today!” to “Well, I could read my Bible right now, but I just don’t feel like it.” Is this really what we’ve become? We say a routine prayer maybe once or twice a week, asking God for help or forgiveness, then just shut our minds off to Him. We would rather go on with our everyday routines than take time out to spend with our Lord. We think, “Oh, my life is good. God knows I’m busy. As long as I ask Him to forgive the sins I’ve committed, then He won’t care if I don’t read my Bible today or talk to that friend who I know isn’t a Christian. He completely understands. Besides, I‘ve got friends, a good job, a place to live. I don‘t need anything right now from Him.” WRONG MINDSET. This is exactly what got the Church in Laodicea in trouble in Revelation. “I know your deeds, that you are neither hot nor cold. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm-neither hot nor cold-I am about to spit you out of my mouth. You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing….” (Revelation 3:15-17) This kind of thought process literally makes Jesus want to vomit. How can we live this way knowing that we are making the Savior sick? If it makes Him sick, it should make us sick, too. He would rather us completely reject Him than for us to live our lives as sideline Christians. We say the prayer that saves our soul, then move on with our lives. This is where false identity comes into play. As disciples of Christ, our identity should be in Him. Instead, we put our identities in the media, in friends, in a girl, in a guy, in our grades, in anything that is not God. In letting idols in our lives, we automatically break two of the Ten Commandments: no other gods and no coveting. Yes, I know it is hard to not be distracted by all the “cool stuff” nowadays, and lust is really difficult to avoid, but it is possible.
The world we live in tells us to do whatever feels good at the time. Why are we listening to what the media say, though? “Do not conform to the ways of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind….” (Romans 12:2). We as followers of Christ have become tolerant about what we allow into our minds and lives. We compromise ourselves so we can fit in and try to seem “cool” in the eyes of our peers. We will laugh at the raunchy movies and refuse to flinch or look away when nudity or sex scenes are shown. We will not speak out against homosexuality, and when our friends start talking about what parties they went to and how drunk they got and who they slept with, we just nod and say nothing about it. The only times we will talk about sin are when we are in a “safe” environment, which is mainly a church or a church event. What is wrong with this picture? The first disciples had no qualms with speaking of the wrongdoings of whatever town they were in. They would call people out on their sin, though they did it in love by telling them face to face. They had untamed faith. (McManus) They did not let rules or etiquette stand in their way of preaching truth and teaching people about Jesus. They had a fire for God that consumed their whole hearts and souls, helping them focus on the task at hand. They were radicals in their day, something which was condemnable by law. They knew that they would be looked down upon for the way they lived and what they stood for. They even knew that death was not only a possibility, but a probability. Did they care? Not one bit. Those disciples were too filled with Christ’s love to give a second thought to the consequences of living a righteous life. They let their faith consume them instead of their worries and cares.
We have so many great examples to follow in the past on how to live the life of faith, yet we just listen to the stories about what these apostles and martyrs did, then disregard them as having no relevance in our lives. I believe we do this because we cannot relate their experiences to our lives, thinking that their world was too different from the one in which we live. In reality, aside from different governments, clothing styles, and societal rules, we are no different from them. Why does it seem so easy for them to have no restraints when it comes to faith, then? Here is my opinion: rules. They did not have a certain regime to follow because back then, there were no established churches to weigh them down with doctrines. They just had Christ and what He laid out for them to accomplish.
I have no idea when the church became conventional, but somewhere down the road of history, it did. Regulations were put into place, doctrines were set up, and the word “religion” to the place of “relationship.” We one-upped other religions, though, when we divided our religions into many different denominations. Each one has its own belief system and doctrines. Here is the best part: they bicker and dispute about which one is right. Each division is trying to outdo the others, trying to attract more members. What a fantastic example to show nonbelievers of what the church is! Yes, this is definitely the way to minister to the lost and convince people that Christianity is about peace and truth (Sarcasm is dripping from my voice, in case you cannot tell). What is our problem?! If nonbelievers do decide to step foot into a typical Sunday service, they better be prepared to be judged for not being a believer. Apparently, that is all that Christians do. We judge everyone on a daily basis. Why do people believe this? Well, it is because of the people that do actually go out and “evangelize.” You know the people I am talking about. They are the ones that stand on the sides of the street or in front of buildings, yelling “in the name of Jesus” that all gays are going to hell, God hates Obama, and God hates fags. Wow, no wonder the typical American thinks that Christian are only here to judge and shove the Bible down people’s throats. With these kind of “believers” representing the name of Jesus, I am surprised that more people do not hate us. We have built up such a bad reputation for ourselves in this world.
I know, of course, that there are so many exceptions to what I have said. We have preachers and evangelists who still maintain the flame in their hearts. We have missionaries who risk their lives daily in foreign countries. We have people who go out everyday and minister to the lost with love and joy, not shouting and anger. We have people who live out their faith with joyous abandon everyday wherever they go. These people know what it is like to live with untamed faith. They have not fallen victim to the trappings of religion, as so many others have, including myself. I am guilty of nearly everything that has been previously stated. I am fearful, lazy, religious, judgmental, and confused about my identity, but I am working on letting go of these restraints and trying out simple, unadulterated faith. I may not know everything about being a disciple and living the Christian life, but I do know this: if we as a following do not develop as a whole and become the passionate people we are called to be, we will be in some big trouble when we meet Saint Peter at the pearly gates.

An Undying Memory

Driving up the black-paved country road, I spy my grandparents’ house peeking through the thin line of pine trees, and instinctively I blurt out the traditional “I see Grandma’s house!” Old habits die hard, I guess. I turn into the circular pebble driveway, hearing the crunch as the tiny rocks grind together under the weight of my car. As I step out, my nose is immediately assaulted with the fragrances of my past: irises, lilies, carnations, roses, hydrangeas, and crisp country air.

While strolling down the walkway toward what has become my second home over the years, I unconsciously let my eyes slide over to peek at the dying grass in the front yard. My imagination conjures up an epic acorn war between Trayse and me. My older cousin usually won these fights, except for that one time when I pegged him right in the eye. Needless to say, I was the victor. A brief smirk flits across my face, and I march up the three cement steps onto the wooden porch. Just before I open the front door, I pause and steal a glance at the porch swing and rickety old pew. These unremarkable objects have come to hold so much significance in my life: so many tears shed, several heart-to-heart talks, and the joyous occasions that still warm my heart.

I push open the maroon door, forgetting yet again to catch it before it slams into the glass armoire full of fragile antiques. It still baffles me that in eighteen years, nothing has ever broken in that ancient piece of furniture. I automatically toss my purse carelessly onto the couch in the entryway and stride over to stand in the doorway of the living room on the right. Suddenly, my mind flashes back to a sweet old man and a scrawny little girl both chuckling at the antics of Tom and Jerry, and bursting out in peals of laughter when Wile E. Coyote fails once again to capture Road Runner. There I am, sitting on Pawpaw’s lap in that tattered blue recliner, watching our cartoons. That was our time together, the time when we were connected on all levels of life. I blink, the memory fades, and the old sadness washes over me. The beloved scene is replaced by Paula Deen’s nasty voice emitting from the television in the corner and Gigi, my grandma, rocking and knitting in her neat beige recliner. She stands and embraces me, immediately questioning me about college, boys, classes, church, friends, and life in general. I inwardly sigh and crank out the same answers to the same set of questions: college is great; there is…still…no guy in my life; I’m making good grades in my classes; I really love the church I’m attending and the campus Baptist student organization; I have made a lot of terrific friends, and life is fantastic. Gigi never ceases to ask me the same exact questions every time I see her; this is probably why I love her so much.

After chatting for a few minutes and informing Gigi that Mom would be arriving soon, I decided to slip into the kitchen for a snack. I dodge imaginary paper airplanes thrown by Trayse and my seven-year-old self. The pantry contains Pop-Tarts and Sunchips…and an old hiding spot in the back corner. Trayse could always find the best hiding places, which is why I almost always lost at hide-and-seek. I turn toward the kitchen counter and see the different arrays of food from all the Thanksgivings, Christmases, and family reunions that have taken place here over the years. My favorite part of the meals has always been my grandma’s famous pumpkin rolls. My mouth starts to salivate as I think about the delicious concoction. I shake my head and block out the taunting memories. Thank God that Thanksgiving is only a few weeks away. Upon reentering the living room, I see Trayse and the Campbell boys passed out on the couch and on various pallets on the floor, after unsuccessfully trying to camp outside overnight. I always knew those boys were a bunch of pansies. Then again, at the age of eleven, what boys aren’t? Mom and Gigi are already discussing how to decorate the house for Christmas and what they should get as presents for my baby cousins, and I start to giggle as I reminisce about previous Christmases. Aunt Tiffany, Trayse, and I always waited until all the adults were out of the house before we raided the presents under the Christmas tree, relentlessly trying to figure out what was underneath the snowman-printed wrapping paper. Occasionally our assumptions would be right, but most of the time the grown-ups would win the fight and surprise us with what they bought for us. They always outsmarted us, dang it….

The gentle, comforting darkness of night closes in quickly, and Mom and Gigi head off to bed, leaving me alone. I eye the cabinet beneath the TV, deciding whether or not I want to take yet another trip down memory lane. The negative side never had a chance. I pull out a couple of my favorite home movies and let my mind escape to the innocent adventures of my childhood.