But
I grew weary of living an edited
life. It was too much trouble trying
to post on one site and edit it
(or omit) on the other. So, with
an inordinate amount of trepidation,
I decided to have only one Web log,
warts and all, for anyone to see.
Some
of you may think my fears were misplaced.
Perhaps you are right, though I
doubt it. I’ve been around the Christian
block enough to know what the boundaries
are. In the event you’re unclear,
let me offer you a few samples ...
*On
moral issues: Give answers, don’t
ask questions. Black and white is
good; shades of grey are bad. Tell
people what to think; don’t teach
them how to think. Reduce scriptural
teaching to principles and propositions.
*On
personal issues: Conceal your failures,
don’t reveal them. Don’t let them
know you’re human with real problems,
questions, doubts, sins. Promote
honesty, but don’t model it.
*On
church issues: Church success is
measured by bodies, buildings and
bucks. Be successful, aspire to
be, or pretend to be.
*On
political issues: Never question
the Republican Party. Be passionate
about the rights of unborn children
and reticent about the rights of
impoverished children. Be pro‑life
and pro‑death (penalty) all
at once.
Need
I go on?
While
squarely within what is commonly
known as “conservative evangelical
Christianity,” I’ve never been comfortable
endorsing all its trappings and
assumptions. For the most part I’ve
kept these concerns to myself.
Some
of my motives are good: I do not
want to erect Unnecessary blocks
to the Gospel. I’ve always wanted
to die on that cross, not the cross
of social action or other worthy
causes. In addition, taking my cue
from Ivan Karamazov, I’ve been cautious
about unnecessarily confusing people
who look to me for spiritual guidance.
But
there’s another side to my reticence:
I worry too much about what others
think. While I privately rail against
“crusty Christianity,” I never shake
the boat too much. I tell myself
that I’m looking out for the Gospel
and respectful of the immaturity
of others–but am I just a wimp?
Afraid to take a hit?
I
worried: If people knew I sometimes
surfed the seedier side of the Internet,
would they string me up? If they
knew that I question why “Christian”
politics always favors middle class
white America, would they leave
the church? If they knew I sometimes
get mad at God, would their faith
be shaken?
On
the one hand, anonymous writing
gave me an outlet to express creative
thoughts about life and critical
concerns about Christianity without
agenda or fear of reprisal. It was
a relief and a pleasure to coax
some of my thoughts out of my head
and into cyberspace. When I wrote,
I felt, in the words of Eric Liddell
in “Chariots of Fire,” “the pleasure
of God.”
But
it became a guilty pleasure. For
how could I promote authenticity
without modeling it? How could I
offer grace to others while not
trusting them to extend it to me?
How could I encourage thinking outside
the box when I stayed inside it
most of the time?
I
needed to come clean. It was time
to exchange the edited life for
the honest life. It was time for
Mini‑Me to come out into the
open, to share the stage with my
public persona. I just hoped he
wouldn’t get squished. Much to my
surprise and relief, we’re both
getting along just fine.
