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Christian, What’s Your Point?

Lately I find myself looking at Christians out there in the world, and more often than not wondering what on earth they think they’re doing:

I see them badgering the LGBTQ community and I wonder what good they suppose it does to make someone feel unwelcome in their faith community, to oppose them marrying the person they choose, to equate their inclination to love another adult, with something monstrous.

I watch their rabid, flag-waving nationalism, and want to ask them how they can read the Gospels of a brown-skinned, homeless, refugee Rabbi who spoke of “God so loving the world”—and how they imagine their “America First” posturing is perpetuating him in any way. 

I witness their scalding hostility toward Muslims, and wish I could ask them what they believe they’re accomplishing with their condemnation and rhetoric and lazy stereotypes; how they’re reflecting the character of Jesus, how they’re delivering Good News, how they’re loving their Muslim neighbor.

I look at the celebrity preachers and small town pastors, incessantly pointing a finger at the world, so willing to dispense damnation, so seemingly giddy to declare someone disqualified for Heaven—and I wonder how they imagine that helps show people what Jesus looks like. 

Christian, can you tell me what the point of your faith is?

I don’t mean, some dusty, parroted Sunday School answer you’ve learned to regurgitate on demand; the one you copy and paste in comment sections and toss like a grenade during arguments. I’m not talking about a theological treatise you’ve heard and committed to memory. I’m not talking about a passive-aggressive Scripture citation posted without commentary.

I mean, as you walk through this world and your specific life rubs up against the specific lives of other people—what do you intend your religion to accomplish there? What do you want your faith to say? 

I ask because whatever it is, I’m concerned it’s getting lost in translation somewhere. I’m not sure you’re saying what you intend to say with.
I think you may be speaking bitterness and contempt and judgment and grudge holding.
I’m concerned you’re speaking fear and superiority and isolation.
I’m worried that the fruit of your efforts is something far uglier and far more corrosive than what you’re intending.
I don’t know if you realize that your religion may have become weaponized.
I’m not sure you understand that it’s hurting people; not in some lofty “saving them from eternal punishment” way—but it is actually damaging them, hindering them, terrorizing them.

So what is your point, here?

I’ve been a pastor for twenty years. I’ve heard every flowery church mission statement, every systematic framework, every isolated Bible verse drop, every incendiary sermon. I’m not interested in your religious-speak or your theoretical preaching or your theological gymnastics. I’m not talking about some public declaration or social media evangelizing. 

I mean, in the quiet, solitary places, when it is just you and the God you believe to be, when you listen to the prompt of your heart—what is it that you hear that God calling you to be and do in the world? 

Christian, what I want to know is: with your individual life of faith; in the sum total of the words you speak and the work you do and the legacy you leave and the difference you make on the planet, what is your point?

And most importantly, without you broadcasting or advertising it or beating people over the head with it—would anyone know?

 

 

 

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