Sometimes, religious people say stupid things. They say stupid things out of kindness, when they trying to help someone feel better, or out of fervor, when they are trying to convert, or because they get hung up on jargon and don’t pay attention. Nadia Bolz-Weber, one of my personal theological superheroes, recently wrote a blog post about it. (http://www.patheos.com/blogs/nadiabolzweber/2014/02/828/) Some other smart people in the blogosphere writing about about phrases that churches say that scare young people away. Well, I’m not so young, but I certainly can identify with being scared away from church.
No one has yet mentioned the phrase that terrified me, my personal church jargon bogey-man. It was the well-meaning question, “Have you taken Jesus Christ into your heart?” As a child, I pictured a tiny Jesus living in a house in my heart. My seven year-old mind wondered, “Why on earth would he want to be there and why would I want him living inside of me?” I never got past the weirdness of it. Then, there is the similar, less imagery-laden query, “Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior?” Both of these questions scared the hell out of me as a child (and as an adult, honestly).
I remember sitting at the campfire at my church choir camp, after we’d had our fill of smores, sang Kum-Ba-Yah, and got bitten by 20 million mosquitoes. The irresistibly charming teenage counselors invited those who wanted to “take Jesus into our hearts” to stay after the campfire and “be saved”. I froze. I wanted to do it, to belong, to become a part of this special society. But, I was terrified. What would happen to me if I did it? How would I be different? What about me needed to change? I went back to my cabin and went to sleep. I peeked out from my bunk as the girls who stayed at the campfire returned to the cabin, talking in hushed tones, faces lit up with the glow of the holy spirit. Maybe it was a crush on the cutest counselor--but I figured it must be the Holy Spirit. Part of me felt like I missed out on a party, but most of me was just plain relieved.
Why couldn’t I do it? I was fine with God and Jesus Christ. For heaven’s sake, I had just ridden a bus 8 hours to a camp where we sang hymns for about 4 hours a day, I loved my Sunday School; I went to church every Sunday. Why couldn’t I “accept Jesus Christ as my personal savior”? That little question was part of what drove me away from church for more than 20 years.
I think I realized that it’s a loaded question, like a loaded gun. There is an unspoken second part to it: “Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior? (Because if you have, then you’re in like Flynn and if you haven’t, well, welcome to Hell, my friend.) It’s kind of like the questions parents ask their children, “Have you cleaned your room (eaten your vegetables, washed your ears)?” What parents REALLY mean is, “You damn well better have, if you know what’s good for you!” I suppose my 12 year-old self saw through that loaded question and rebelled against the implied threat. I ran away from the whole thing.
So what brought me back to church? It was absolutely not fear of hell, or wanting to be “in the right crowd”, or a calculated effort to hedge my bets for eternity by hanging out with the “good guys”. It was Grace, saving, catholic Grace, unearned, undeserved, unadulterated Grace. I found grace in the words of one of my other theological superheroes, Robert Farrar Capon. Capon said, “Jesus is the Light of the World, not the Lighting Company of the world. Neither he nor his church is an electricity supplier you have to get wired up to in order to have light in your life. He is the Sun, not a power utility; all you have to do is trust him enough to open your eyes and presto! You had light all along.”
Holy Shit! I had to put the book down to wipe tears from my eyes. Here was someone telling me that Jesus had been in my heart ALL THE TIME and that he was ALREADY my personal savior. The loaded question became an invitation; the threat became a blessing that I’d already received. Fear of hell was traded for an invitation to an eternal party. My mind was lit on fire with the realization that we all were ALREADY saved.
Those kind people asking me to “take Jesus into my heart” meant well. They were trying to help me, with their veiled threats and their loaded invitations. They just couldn’t find the right words to corral my stubborn heart. I didn’t realize that what I was afraid of was already my comfort, that I didn’t have to change to receive Christ, but I have surely would change because of Christ. I don’t have to do anything special to receive him--I just had to quit working so hard to keep him out. I didn’t have to “let him into my heart”, because he has always been there.
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