Today I have been quite sad. Last night, some close friends and I had a reunion, and what was supposed to be a fun, friendly hangout, peppered with silly humor, with a little intimate conversation thrown in and some pensive pondering out loud, turned into an intellectual/religious slugfest, where some hearts were definitely hurt.
This friend group has primarily existed, over the past couple of months, in an online thread. In the thread, we share punny jokes, whacky gifs, and engage in playful banter. But the thread consists of much serious talk, and has since its inception. In fact, the thread began a day after three of us four went to a one-man play that was a condensed form of C.S. Lewis’s Surprised by Joy, his autobiographical work focusing on his transformation from a nominally Christian child, to a hard-boiled atheist with an intellect that would intimidate any believer or unbeliever with an ounce of humility, to a devout Christian convert and a great expositor of the faith. So enamored with C.S. Lewis are these Christian friends, and I, being a “post-Christian”, with a vested interest in persuading my Evangelical friends to be a bit more “open-minded”, posed the following question: “guess who wrote the following…”
My friends all thought the author was a bit of a “wishy washy Christian”, and two suggested it might be Rob Bell, an Evangelical-turned-so-liberal-he’s-probably-not-saved, and they were all surprised to find that it was none other than C.S. Lewis, the 20th century intellectual most-admired by many Evangelicals. What they were not surprised about however, was that I had laid a trap.
I enjoy arguing. I enjoy critiquing arguments in my head and presenting counter arguments, when I find a position with an apparent fallacy: an oversimplification, an internal contradiction, or a contradiction with historical, scientific, or psychological facts. But I have made people cry with my arguments (or was it with my arguing?). I have caused a love interest to be literally on the verge of punching me in the face, because she thought my arguing so rude and mean. I have caused tenderhearted and devoted followers of Jesus to painfully revisit anguish they had left behind, because I remind them of problems in their faith; one such believer was even compelled to excommunicate me from her friend group, because the emotional angst I was causing her was too much for her to bear. The aforementioned love interest, a believer with a big brain and a big heart, and a firm spirit–unafraid to stand up for herself and her people–asked me one evening, during the heat of battle, “If you don’t believe in heaven and hell, what’s the point of your ‘mission?’”. A good question.
A relevant quote from a slightly more famous religious thinker:
So why do I offend people? Why do I try to cause believers to stumble? What good am I doing them? What good am I doing the world? What harm could I be doing them?
Good questions, and ones I ought to seriously reflect upon if I am to I think of myself as one who cares about those around him.
I’m sure much of it is ego-driven, especially considering my relentlessness, even in the face of visibly upset, nay, visibly hurt friends or family.
There are a host of reasons, and I must apologize to the reader who has made it this far, because I’m too tired to elaborate on most of them right now, but I want to go ahead and publish this.
Just know that if you are someone who has been hurt by me, I do feel guilty about causing such spiritual anguish. Or if you have just found me to be a dick, I don’t want to be a dick to my friends or my family, and I am sorry for that.
On a more positive note, I do feel inspired by certain predecessors that the movement I am a part of it is not opposed to God or Christ, but rather, a submission to the God of Truth and the God of Love. Even if my own conduct is sometimes unworthy of the name of this God, I feel inspired by the words of those whom I admire that my religious viewpoints are not merely driven by a rebellious human ego, nor are they altogether damaging to the psyche of my people. Rather, the viewpoints I have inherited may be meaningful and helpful to other people like me, who are inspired by the teachings of Christ and Christian ideas, but who have found themselves “outside of the fold” of the Church, due to the rejection of too many fundamental Christian dogmas.
It’s that last sentence that makes me feel less guilty about potentially damaging someone’s faith, and makes me feel less like “vanity of vanities, all is vanity” with regards to sharing my viewpoints with others. The Truth cannot be torn asunder by one deceived.
Even still, regardless of “the Truth”, people’s hearts do matter, so I should probably back off more often, taking to heart a certain teaching of Jesus, regarding those who are able to receive new teachings.