Jesus, Evolving (Part V, Section A, in a continuing story....it's tax season so Parts and Sections are relevant, right? Part V, Section B will be the next blog post)
A defining of terms, before reading: I use the terms God and Jesus interchangeably in this post. I also use the pronoun, he, to refer to God. The terms God, Jesus, and he all reflect how I referred to God during the time of life of which I write in this post.
Though Christmas day has come and gone, my thoughts and feelings about the meaning of Christmas have been at the forefront of my musings since the holiday's approach. Having an almost three-year-old has made this season seem even more magical and full of wonder for me. She's at an age where she is beginning to recognize that it is a special time of year: she's singing songs about reindeer and jingle bells, noticing colorful lights on neighbors' houses, reading books and watching shows about Christmas, learning about Hanukkah and Kwanzaa at school, playing with tree ornaments and subsequently breaking said ornaments, repetitively watching the Nutcracker or Pentatonix Drummer Boy on YouTube, Mom and Dad are a bit more giddy than usual, and unbeknownst to her, she will be wearing angel wings at a simple kid's Christmas program at our Quaker Meeting. Seeing this season through Claire's eyes has given me nostalgic reminders of Christmases past.
Each year, and this year especially, I've been asking myself what Christmas means to me, especially as my spiritual identity has been morphing. Along with Claire's awe, I feel my own deep sense of meaning, a fullness that I can only describe as palpable hope, and joy of life. I feel deeply connected to a bigger meaning or purpose that has been magnified this holiday season. It includes a harkening to days gone by as a pastor and devoted Jesus-follower, as well as something new in me that is still connected to the story of Jesus, but not in the same way it used to be. A curious thing kept happening in the synapses of my brain and the conduits of my soul during the weeks leading up to Christmas. The words of the song O Holy Night were on Repeat in my head almost every day for several weeks. Kind of like when the Cylons, who didn't know they were Cylons, couldn't get that haunting Jimmy Hendrix song out of their heads. The words to O Holy Night were eliciting those powerful emotions of hope and joy of life for me.
Truly he taught us to love one another
A defining of terms, before reading: I use the terms God and Jesus interchangeably in this post. I also use the pronoun, he, to refer to God. The terms God, Jesus, and he all reflect how I referred to God during the time of life of which I write in this post.
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Though Christmas day has come and gone, my thoughts and feelings about the meaning of Christmas have been at the forefront of my musings since the holiday's approach. Having an almost three-year-old has made this season seem even more magical and full of wonder for me. She's at an age where she is beginning to recognize that it is a special time of year: she's singing songs about reindeer and jingle bells, noticing colorful lights on neighbors' houses, reading books and watching shows about Christmas, learning about Hanukkah and Kwanzaa at school, playing with tree ornaments and subsequently breaking said ornaments, repetitively watching the Nutcracker or Pentatonix Drummer Boy on YouTube, Mom and Dad are a bit more giddy than usual, and unbeknownst to her, she will be wearing angel wings at a simple kid's Christmas program at our Quaker Meeting. Seeing this season through Claire's eyes has given me nostalgic reminders of Christmases past.
Each year, and this year especially, I've been asking myself what Christmas means to me, especially as my spiritual identity has been morphing. Along with Claire's awe, I feel my own deep sense of meaning, a fullness that I can only describe as palpable hope, and joy of life. I feel deeply connected to a bigger meaning or purpose that has been magnified this holiday season. It includes a harkening to days gone by as a pastor and devoted Jesus-follower, as well as something new in me that is still connected to the story of Jesus, but not in the same way it used to be. A curious thing kept happening in the synapses of my brain and the conduits of my soul during the weeks leading up to Christmas. The words of the song O Holy Night were on Repeat in my head almost every day for several weeks. Kind of like when the Cylons, who didn't know they were Cylons, couldn't get that haunting Jimmy Hendrix song out of their heads. The words to O Holy Night were eliciting those powerful emotions of hope and joy of life for me.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Till He appeared and the Soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Truly he taught us to love one another
His law is love and his gospel peace
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother
And in his name all oppression shall cease
I put down my whack-a-mole mallet, allowing my thinking to become more gentle. Still bundled to my eyes, now standing in line waiting for the bus, I began to mentally unfold how my understanding of Jesus and my relationship with him had changed, and why his story is still meaningful to me. I knew that my evolution of belief exemplified one of the many aspects of my great adventure to articulate how a dedicated Christ-follower/believer like myself, could become one who no longer believed that he was savior.
For many years after the Five Day Club, I wasn’t sure if I was really a Christian because no one saw me receive Jesus, and because sometimes I was bad. I could be quite the pain in the ass back then. Remember the amazing neighbors I was telling you about? My way of returning kindness to the mom was heckling her while she hung laundry on the clothes line. I’d hide around the corner of my mint-green house (hunter green trim), with the neighbor's backyard in plain sight, hidden enough so the neighbor mom couldn’t see me, or so I thought, but I could see her. I’d peek my head out and yell, “Heyyyyy!” then hide again. She would stop and look around; I’d shake with silent giggles. I repeated this shenanigan several times until the hilarity wore off and I started feeling guilty, then I’d run off to play or pick on my little sister. That was just the tip of my mischievous and occasionally mean iceberg. During the times I felt especially guilty, I'd ask Jesus into my heart again. This was how I thought about Jesus for many years: Jesus was in my heart (and sometimes needed to be invited in again), so that meant I was a Christian and I was saved for heaven and from hell, and my relationship with Jesus began at a fixed point in time. A popular question for my generation and the generation before mine was: when did you become a Christian? The answer almost always consisted of a specific date, time, and location. Like birth. Though no one has ever asked me how much I weighed when I became a Christian.
I remember the first time I really paid attention to those words. They had a profound impact on how I thought about Jesus as a savior and the meaning of salvation for myself and humanity. I was somewhere in my mid twenties, visiting home and the church I grew up in over a Christmas break. It was a time when when my understanding of Jesus and his salvation was expanding to include all of creation and not just individuals, that perhaps Jesus died not just to save us from our personal sin, but to literally obliterate the concepts of oppression, war, and the destruction of creation. When I sang the words and processed them, there in the sanctuary of the church of my youth, my understanding of Jesus' death and resurrection expanded far beyond me to include so much more. After all, in the Christian tradition, that is what the holiday season is about: the birth of the Savior of world.
The words to O Holy Night and their message of Jesus as Savior, carry a different meaning for me now than they used to, but the words are no less meaningful. One morning a few weeks before Christmas, as I walked over the pedestrian bridge crossing US 36 to get to my Broomfield bus stop, the song was going through my head, again (maybe I am a Cylon). Bundled up to my eyes in my coat and hat, surviving the sub-zero morning, I was thinking about Jesus. The Jesus I believed in most of my life, and how the words to O Holy Night are all about Jesus and his salvation of the world. I was wondering why in the world this song was so moving to me when Jesus as savior wasn't something I believed in anymore. What did these involuntary, unconstrained emotions of hope and joy mean? Was my connection to this song and season evidence that my spiritual metamorphosis had all been in vain--that maybe my former beliefs are the Truth: we need a savior and that savior is Jesus? Years of Christian teaching and apologetics did a whack-a-mole dance in my mind, while all of the reasons why I DIDN'T think Jesus was the only answer served as my mallet. You could say that I was doubting my doubts, all while crossing a 200 yard bridge suspended over morning rush hour traffic, wondering if I really was a Cylon. Then I thought of that Oliver Wendell Holmes quote, one that my husband stuck to our fridge several years ago:
The words to O Holy Night and their message of Jesus as Savior, carry a different meaning for me now than they used to, but the words are no less meaningful. One morning a few weeks before Christmas, as I walked over the pedestrian bridge crossing US 36 to get to my Broomfield bus stop, the song was going through my head, again (maybe I am a Cylon). Bundled up to my eyes in my coat and hat, surviving the sub-zero morning, I was thinking about Jesus. The Jesus I believed in most of my life, and how the words to O Holy Night are all about Jesus and his salvation of the world. I was wondering why in the world this song was so moving to me when Jesus as savior wasn't something I believed in anymore. What did these involuntary, unconstrained emotions of hope and joy mean? Was my connection to this song and season evidence that my spiritual metamorphosis had all been in vain--that maybe my former beliefs are the Truth: we need a savior and that savior is Jesus? Years of Christian teaching and apologetics did a whack-a-mole dance in my mind, while all of the reasons why I DIDN'T think Jesus was the only answer served as my mallet. You could say that I was doubting my doubts, all while crossing a 200 yard bridge suspended over morning rush hour traffic, wondering if I really was a Cylon. Then I thought of that Oliver Wendell Holmes quote, one that my husband stuck to our fridge several years ago:
"The mind, once expanded to the dimensions of larger ideas, never returns to its original size."
I put down my whack-a-mole mallet, allowing my thinking to become more gentle. Still bundled to my eyes, now standing in line waiting for the bus, I began to mentally unfold how my understanding of Jesus and my relationship with him had changed, and why his story is still meaningful to me. I knew that my evolution of belief exemplified one of the many aspects of my great adventure to articulate how a dedicated Christ-follower/believer like myself, could become one who no longer believed that he was savior.
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I accepted Jesus into my heart somewhere around eight years old. For those unfamiliar with the term "accepted Jesus into my heart," it means that I was saved from my sin and hell, would live with Jesus in heaven when I died, and convert to a Christian way of life. When I was eight, my neighbors were hosting what was called a Five Day Club. This was an event where neighborhood kids came to the neighbors' house every day, for five days, to hear about how much Jesus loves us. Our neighbors were some of the most wonderful people in my family’s life, and prayed for my parents and our family to become Christians. They had kids around the ages of my two sisters and me. We all spent a lot of time together as children. The son was my buddy: we took art classes together, went to Awana together (we pretty much dominated at Dodgeball), and had tree-climbing as a common interest. One time, the whole lot of us kids created a play, “The Year 2000,” and performed it in their garage in front of our proud and entertained parents. I was a robot, wearing a box half-covered in foil because we didn't have enough foil to engulf the box (you can see why our parents were proud). Our neighbors were the kind of people who brought us cookies on holidays, let us eat their natural and organic snacks (before people knew what natural and organic were), shared their low-sugar Kool Aid after playing in the Florida heat, and always shared their caring spirit with us. Sometimes I thought they were weird because the kids weren’t allowed to listen to pop music, and one time I got in trouble for bringing a book of ghost stories to their house. But, who am I to call anyone weird? They were dedicated and committed Christians and wonderful neighbors, and it was in their home, at the Five Day Club, that I accepted Jesus into my heart.
The funny thing was, when I went to the Five Day Club, I accepted Jesus into my heart in order to avoid being one-upped by my younger sister, Amanda. And because the idea of living in mansions in heaven was a no-brainer compared to the bowels of hell. The Club leaders used a home-made construction paper book to tell us all about Jesus. They stood at the front of the living room, turning the pages of the book, telling how Jesus came to earth because he loved us and he died for our sins so we would not have to be punished for them. If we believed in him we would live forever in mansions and on streets of gold in Heaven. One of the last pages in the book had a picture of Jesus standing at a door and knocking; this was the door to our hearts.
We were invited to close our eyes and raise our hands if we wanted to accept Jesus into our hearts. All the kids who raised their hands were instructed to go and pray with a leader. I saw Amanda praying with someone and thought, “Oh crap, if she’s doing this then I should be doing this.” But, instead of embarrassing myself by raising my hand after the fact, I remained seated on the floor and silently prayed to ask Jesus in: “Dear Jesus please come into my heart.” The lights flashed, the floors shook, and a voice from heaven boomed into the living room! Not really, but that’s how I sometimes imagined it was for some people when Jesus saved them. On the day that I became a Christian, nothing changed, except for a feeling of assurance that I would not be living with the Devil.
The funny thing was, when I went to the Five Day Club, I accepted Jesus into my heart in order to avoid being one-upped by my younger sister, Amanda. And because the idea of living in mansions in heaven was a no-brainer compared to the bowels of hell. The Club leaders used a home-made construction paper book to tell us all about Jesus. They stood at the front of the living room, turning the pages of the book, telling how Jesus came to earth because he loved us and he died for our sins so we would not have to be punished for them. If we believed in him we would live forever in mansions and on streets of gold in Heaven. One of the last pages in the book had a picture of Jesus standing at a door and knocking; this was the door to our hearts.
For many years after the Five Day Club, I wasn’t sure if I was really a Christian because no one saw me receive Jesus, and because sometimes I was bad. I could be quite the pain in the ass back then. Remember the amazing neighbors I was telling you about? My way of returning kindness to the mom was heckling her while she hung laundry on the clothes line. I’d hide around the corner of my mint-green house (hunter green trim), with the neighbor's backyard in plain sight, hidden enough so the neighbor mom couldn’t see me, or so I thought, but I could see her. I’d peek my head out and yell, “Heyyyyy!” then hide again. She would stop and look around; I’d shake with silent giggles. I repeated this shenanigan several times until the hilarity wore off and I started feeling guilty, then I’d run off to play or pick on my little sister. That was just the tip of my mischievous and occasionally mean iceberg. During the times I felt especially guilty, I'd ask Jesus into my heart again. This was how I thought about Jesus for many years: Jesus was in my heart (and sometimes needed to be invited in again), so that meant I was a Christian and I was saved for heaven and from hell, and my relationship with Jesus began at a fixed point in time. A popular question for my generation and the generation before mine was: when did you become a Christian? The answer almost always consisted of a specific date, time, and location. Like birth. Though no one has ever asked me how much I weighed when I became a Christian.
In my late teens my understanding of a relationship with Jesus shifted to something more like conversion: my stated belief in Christ and his acceptance into my heart were followed by a genuine desire to actually live my life like a Christian and make a difference in the world. Just before college, during the summer after my senior year of high school, I had an almost-committed-just about there-but not quite-conversion experience. I was on a mission trip with my youth group in Guatemala. For two weeks we lived in a little village on the shore of Lake Atitlan and helped the village build a church. My friends and I were exposed to life in a developing country and got closer to God because we saw how happy and faithful these people were, even though they had nothing (I think getting closer to God because I realized people could be happy without 30 different versions of peanut butter and 600 TV channels, is a uniquely North American spiritual experience). I also recognized that helping people build something that was meaningful for their community connected me with something bigger than myself, that something being God. At the end of my trip to Guatemala I was motivated and inspired to return home and live differently because of what God had done in my life. At the trip's end, we flew out of Guatemala City to Miami, then drove from Miami to St. Pete. When we pulled into the church parking lot one of my long-time boy buddies was waiting in the parking lot to greet our group. Before I left the church that day he asked me out on a date.
I was at the budding stages of living my life for Jesus, coming down from a mission trip high, and at the same time beginning to fall in love with a boy. While I was spending more and more time with this boy, I was also attempting to do the work of God. My leaders and mentors encouraged me to volunteer as a middle school youth leader, facilitating a Bible study for middle school girls as well as creating our monthly youth newsletter (think computer-less clip art and a copy machine + my undeniable hilariousness). Every week I’d meet with this funny, quirky, lively group of middle school girls and talk about faith, and morals, and middle school life. Just about every evening, and all other spare moments, were spent with my boyfriend. The further we got into our almost two year relationship, the more I felt pervasive anxiety, worried that I was short-changing my relationship with God, and overdoing my time with my boyfriend. This wasn’t a phase in life when I had an abundance of self-awareness or useful tools for being able to have a mature conversation with my boyfriend about our relationship, or how our faith played into our relationship. We didn’t talk about “us,” instead we just lived our lives together (not in the same house, of course, that would be an out-of-wedlock sinfest).
Over time we began to slowly un-get to know each other, and week by week things started unraveling for us. I was dealing with an intense inner struggle with guilt and integrity—the Rachel I hoped I was showing to my evangelical world was strong in faith and morals, on the right path with God. The Rachel I kept inside was persevarating over the fact that my priorities were tilting, unbalanced, toward my boyfriend and away from God. Our relationship continued on a downward spiral and I knew I needed to break up with him, but I just couldn’t muster the courage to do it. I was afraid of hurting his feelings, afraid of ending a longtime friendship, afraid of being alone. Lucky for me, he was the brave one and broached the breakup conversation. It was what they call a "mutual breakup," occurring in the front seat of his car, parked next to a big, crescent-shaped lake in St. Pete. Though it was mutual, it was still difficult, and at the same time, exactly what I needed.
Relief was the most powerful thing that I felt as I walked back to my car and drove away from my now ex-boyfriend. I headed straight to North Shore Park next to Tampa Bay to pray and think. I paced in the stiff, Augustine grass with The Pier in the distance. I was throwing my hands up toward the sky in resolution, pledging my life to God with tears streaming down my face. “I’ll do whatever you want God. I want my life to be Yours. I’m sorry for ignoring You.” After almost two years of sitting on the proverbial fence, teetering back and forth between a life dedicated to God and a life dedicated to a boy, I couldn’t have it both ways, and I didn’t have to have it both ways anymore. I wanted to surrender to Jesus, to live a pure life, walk the talk, live out my faith so that others knew without a doubt that I was a Christian. I wanted all in. So I shouted out my pledge to God that day, looking like someone who had just lost her mind, pacing by the Bay, but feeling like someone who had just found herself. I considered this experience the real start of my relationship with Jesus.
After my true conversion by the Bay, I stopped asking Jesus into my heart and worrying if he was really there. I threw myself into evangelical Christian study, especially around topics of prayer and relationships. I read books on praying, and began to regularly write my prayers in a journal. Prayer was my way to maintain an ongoing relationship with God. I also began reading about what right Christian relationships look like, gravitating toward Elisabeth Eliot’s Passion and Purity (this book makes I Kissed Dating Goodbye look like porn) and other books that helped me learn to reign in my sexual desire and repress any tendencies to take initiative of any kind in a relationship. I rededicated my future relationships to letting the man take the lead and abstaining from physical contact, as well as commissioned my friend’s father, a jeweler, to craft a purity ring for me (purity ring=I will not have sex with you until you are my husband). All of which lead to no serious relationships for the next seven years. I engaged in more spiritual conversations with adults at my church, started sitting in the front row during sermons and taking notes, revitalized my leadership with middle school students, and I also applied to Colorado Christian University (CCU) in hopes of transferring there after getting my AA. At my community college I took a class on religious writings, and even dared go on a date with a boy who was a late-night DJ for a local Catholic radio station. This ended quickly though, as I reminded myself that Catholics weren’t really Christians and I would be unequally yoked in a relationship with him. I was genuinely changed, inside and out, by my renewed relationship with God, and I was beginning to strengthen my commitment to evangelical values. My morphing relationship with Jesus was about giving my whole life over to him and letting what was true on the inside show on the outside, coupled with appropriate evangelical social behavior. This was a season when, if you were to ask me, "Are you saved?" I would be able to confidently answer yes. This was also a season when evangelicalism, Christianity, and salvation were all the same thing to me; my life felt congruent and I felt alive.
I was accepted to Colorado Christian University (or, CCU--go Cougars!), packed everything I owned into my 1989 Nissan Sentra, and embarked on the pilgrimage of a lifetime to Arvada, Colorado. This was a huge leap of faith for me to leave life as I knew it, and trust God as he led me to the wild west. During my first four yeas of living in Colorado, I dedicated my life to becoming a youth pastor. I was majoring in Biblical Studies at CCU, deciding not to major in Youth Ministry, because in my humble 21-year-old opinion, it didn't focus enough on Biblical scholarship, and I was working as a youth pastor intern at one of the best youth ministries in the country. My Biblical Studies classes were fascinating and I was falling in love with the Bible, in particular the socio-historical contexts within which it was written. Engaging in scholarly study of the Bible deepened my attachment to my relationship with Jesus and evangelical Christianity. Along with my studies, I'd had a powerful, mystical experience with God that lead me to accept his call to go into youth ministry.
I had been consulting with friends and anguished for months in prayer, begging God to give me the go ahead to be a youth pastor. Despite strong trust in God, my passion for working with students (I was taking a full course load and working two jobs, but always made sure I could be at church volunteering on Sundays and Wednesdays), and my obsession with learning about the Bible, God was not revealing his will to me; I was expecting him to show me in some blatant and concrete way (think Balaam’s Ass) that I was supposed to be a youth pastor. I pleaded in journals for God to show me what to do, and asked that my will would not get in the way. I feared that my will was being selfish for wanting to do what seemed to come naturally to me—it couldn’t be God’s will if I enjoyed it so much. I believed that something that was of God’s will ought to require suffering and sacrifice; youth ministry was fulfilling and fun! I sat up one night with my roommate and best friend, asking her opinion. She was a youth intern at the time, the only female in youth ministry that I had ever met. One of my reservations about entering this field was that I was a female. Women in leadership were rare in my tradition; it was truly hard to be what I could not see. But, here, my best friend was a successful youth intern and well on her way to leading her own youth group someday. Some people grow up in churches where the youth pastor was an unpaid, glorified Sunday School teacher. My denomination placed a high value on youth ministers, providing a salary and benefits, and viewed them as important players on the church staff who were part of the leadership of the church. This is what I was aiming for: youth ministry as a profession, as an identity, not as something I did on the side. As I disclosed all my doubts to my friend about why I shouldn’t be a youth pastor: was I good enough, would I be a good preacher, could I be as creative and influential as other youth pastors, could I hack it as one of few females? She simply said, “Okay, still why not? I think you know the answer is Yes, but you are the only one saying No.” As if to say, you’re reasons are not good enough, and you know what you should do. She encouraged me to consider that I could grow into the role, and I would learn along the way. I think I expected myself to be the best youth pastor ever before I decided to be a youth pastor. Though my friend was inspiring, I still needed God to affirm what I already knew about myself—and I would not accept it until God himself said Yes.
And God obliged.
In February of 1999, my soul was more restless and stormier than usual. My patience for God’s answer was wearing thin. I needed to know if I, Rachel Keener, was called to be a youth pastor. Tired of wallowing, praying, begging, and consulting, I decided to hop in my car and go for a drive to work this all out with Jesus and be done with it. I left my house at 10pm and my destination was not a physical one: I was on a quest to know God’s will. As I headed north toward Broomfield, I brashly told God that I wasn’t going home until he gave me a clear answer as to whether or not I should be a youth pastor. The beginning of this conversation was unrequited, so I kept driving. I turned south and drove 45 minutes to Lakewood, toward CCU. Nothing but silence, dripping with frustration filled my little red Sentra. “Why aren’t you saying anything, giving me any signs God?!” When I got close to CCU, I started thinking about a check I had sitting on the front seat of my car. I was getting after myself for not having deposited my check and thinking how foolish it was for me to not put this money in my account so I could actually use it. For some reason, this line of thinking about my un-deposited check made me think about my trust in God about his will. I saw it as a metaphor for how I was relating with him, he was saying to me, “Rachel, I’ve given you what you need, all you have to do is use it—deposit yourself to me, and I will use you.” I felt as if God was breaking the silence and I quickly pulled over into a WalMart parking lot. It was past midnight now and I thought I could wander around WalMart and keep talking to God. This particular Walmart disappointingly closed at 10, so I sat in my car, listening for more of God. I still wanted more proof that this was really God talking and that he was telling me what to do. I pulled out my journal and flipped back to some of my writing and prayers. The page I happened to open to said SURRENDER in all caps in the middle of the page. I saw this as another sign to simply let go and trust God. I also started getting the feeling that God was really right there with me, a powerful and supernatural feeling. I grabbed my Bible, and performed the most non-scholarly approach to reading it: opened it to a random page and started reading, hoping God would speak directly to me. I opened to the book of Job—oh great, the most depressing book in the Bible. My eyes landed on Job 22:21, “Submit to God and be at peace with him; in this way prosperity will be with you.” Holy shit, this was getting weird! I couldn’t believe what was happening, from the check metaphor, to the journal entry, and now words straight from the Bible. God seemed to be doing what I asked, giving me a very blatant and direct sign. “God, I think I get what You’re are saying, surrender and trust You that I can be a youth pastor.” I was now ready to say Yes because God was saying Yes to me. In order to be official (and holy), I slid my seat back, got down on my knees, in my tiny car in the WalMart parking lot, and dedicated my life to being a youth pastor, emphasizing my trust in God, knowing that he would guide the way. Another moment when I am certain I looked crazy, but felt alive.
My calling, along with my Biblical studies, were anchors for my relationship with Jesus. I could not understand how others went through life without him. I wasn’t ashamed to let people in on this spiritual aspect of my life either. If Facebook was around back then I would have been posting Bible verses, praise and worship lyrics, and nuggets of truth I was learning from scholarly articles and exegetically-based sermons. Some probably would have found me pretty annoying as a FB friend, and others would have “Liked” the hell out of all my postings because I was so bold and educated in my faith. I was open about my belief and practice, wore my purity ring on my hand, read my Bible in public, engaged in conversations with strangers about Jesus, didn’t swear (unless I was joking around), and tried to live my life so that everyone would see Jesus in me. One of my part-time jobs was baking bread for an amazing little company, Great Harvest, whose values included having fun. Truthfully, I didn’t get to bake anything. I was a humble dough-kneader who got the bread ready for the oven. I really enjoyed my quirky band of coworkers, the only non-Christians I spent time with: Gary the owner, who would ride his bike to work from the foothills, Ted my immediate supervisor who was a committed runner and bread enthusiast, Pam my colleague who always made me laugh with her southern accent and a hankering for triathlons, Sherry who was quietly kind and kept to herself as she endured an abusive relationship, and Dan, my favorite, my mountain climbing, bike riding, hill running friend. Dan and I spent hours talking and he always showed a genuine interest in my life. He even asked about my purity ring, “Are you married?” “No, it’s a purity ring, to not have sex before I am married.” “Wow, oh, okay.” And he didn’t make fun of me or act like I was a weirdo. My ministry colleagues would often stop in to Great Harvest to say hello while I was working, and of course, anyone who stops in to Great Harvest gets a free, thick slice of fresh baked bread (my friends came a lot). Dan got to know some of my friends because of their frequent stop-ins. On one particular day, Dan and I were loading a cart with scones and cookies. As I squatted down to place a treat on the bottom shelf, Dan asked me a striking question: “I’ve noticed how nice your friends are from your church. You all treat each other so well and seem to have really good relationships. What makes you all like that?” This is the question most evangelicals only wish they could hear! An open door to witness, to share our faith. I walked right into that door and told Dan what it was all about. “Well, I don’t want to sound corny and religious, but honestly, the thing that makes us the way we are is our relationships with Jesus. Jesus makes the difference in our lives.” As he did when responding to my purity ring, he simply smiled and said okay. I was quaking on the inside because I was bold enough to speak up about Jesus and the difference he made in my life. And then I lead Dan through the sinner's prayer and he said he owed me his life. Okay, not really. Dan simply continued to be my friend and showed no interest in getting to know Jesus, but I felt satisfied knowing that at least he knew what I was about.
Aside from the social indicators of my evangelicalism and faith in Jesus, I was in step theologically as well. I knew full well that Jesus was the only way to God, not one option, but the only way. The way to get to Jesus was to accept him into my heart by admitting that I was a sinner and asking him to take away my sins. Jesus being born unto a virgin was something I wholly accepted without question, and to think otherwise was like believing the sun revolved around the earth (Galileo and Copernicus might have something to say here). I also knew that God existed in the form of the Holy Trinity—Father, Son (Jesus), and Holy Spirit. As much as that was hard to fathom, and for the intensity level that I studied this idea in school, it never made sense, but I accepted it on faith. To me, Catholics and Mainliners were not really Christians, and they needed Jesus too, and people like Mother Theresa and Ghandi would not be going to heaven without professing Jesus as their Savior. My professors were experts at explaining how and why our theology was logical and irrefutable, which made me even more devoted to God and knowing Jesus. Outside of my coursework I was reading books about Jesus on my own as well. Books like, The Case for Christ; The Jesus I Never Knew; and The Return of the Prodigal Son helped to deepen my love for Jesus and enrich my relationship with him. I added in a little Catcher in the Rye to keep it real too. I also read books on Christian disciplines to help me become a better practice-er of the faith. Through it all, I wrote regularly in my journal, often talking to God through my pen, as well as praying for others around me. It was very normal to find me at a coffee shop or Denny's, holed away in a corner, scratching away in my Moleskin. Having Jesus in my heart was not just a ticket to heaven, but the the center of a lifelong, life-changing relationship that guided every aspect of my life.
As much as I loved the Bible and was confident in Jesus, I wasn't a Bible-thumper, nor did I go out of my way to impose my beliefs onto others. If people asked, like Dan, I was excited to share my faith, but I wasn't about to stand on a street corner or come to your house to convert you. Over time, a few of my classes helped me challenge some of the conventional social indicators of evangelicalism that were comfortable for me (things previously mentioned: drinking, purity ring, cussing, etc.) and I was also part of what I considered an unconventional evangelical church denomination. I prided myself on being part of a denomination whose unofficial motto when it came to theological or behavioral differences was, "show me where it's written." As in, show me where it is written in the Bible. As in, show me where it is written that baptism by immersion is the only true baptism, for example. I think they, and I, would add to that, "show me how you responsibly interpret it." The church where I was doing my youth ministry internship modeled this unconventional approach as well. We sold beer at Broncos games for fundraisers, hosted edgy teaching series on things like sex, and understanding other religions. Our rock and roll, professionally produced, youth ministry program held semi-celebrity status in the Denver suburbs as the place to go on Sunday mornings. Our senior pastor was a refreshingly genuine person who made Christianity appealing--and he advocated for women in ministry. If you have not grown up in, or experienced the evangelical sub-cultural, our church and denomination were considered less conservative. At the same time, we absolutely adhered to the theological Statement of Faith of the National Association of Evangelicals (http://www.nae.net/about-us/statement-of-faith). At that time in my life, I could not separate my relationship with Jesus from my theological context--I came to know Jesus in this context, and my relationship with him grew there as well. To have a relationship with Jesus meant I also believed in evangelical theology. Though my church and denomination aligned with evangelical theology, their unconventional behaviors, compared to more traditional denominations, allowed me to begin distinguish between Jesus and a system of beliefs: selling beer at my church was okay, while selling beer at another church was ungodly. How could it be that one place said I was ungodly while another did not? These kinds of observations, intertwined with other observations, inspired me to gingerly open the door for more questions from my little Keener head.
Other observations came through one of my most mind-blowing classes on the topic of the history of evangelicalism. In this class, we were reading a book called The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind. This book challenged that fact the evangelicals were not investing in a serious intellectual life or participating in and contributing to academic communities. This book and this class inspired me to use my brain to ask questions about other evangelical assertions that I took at face value. These questions were a mix of theological and social expressions of evangelicals. Two core issues for me were salvation--or more specifically, the way in which people began a relationship with Jesus, and gender.
The idea that accepting Jesus into our hearts, via the sinner's prayer, as a marker for our salvation, was becoming bothersome to me. I learned that the sinner's prayer was less than a century old, and that indicators of being a true Christian changed all the time throughout history.
Pop Quiz
You know you are a Christian if you are:
a. Catholic b. Protestant c. Orthodox d. Morman e. Jehovah's Witness f. Coptic g. attend Mass f. attend church g. baptized by immersion h. take Communion via intinction i. a person who says Eucharist instead of Communion j. a Republican k. a Democrat l. a nuclear family n.a Calvinist o. a Broncos fan
I realize I'm being cheeky here, but seriously, I was genuinely bothered by what defined us as Christians. The perspective I was taking on was that it is most important to have relationship with Jesus, no matter how that relationship began, no matter what theological system someone most resonated with, and no matter if your church sold beer at Broncos games. My youth pastor colleagues and I were noticing that the formulaic approach to becoming a Christian in our evangelical subculture, was transitioning into something different. My generation's formula looked like this:
accept Jesus as Savior + discipleship* + integration into church community + walking your talk= mature Christian
The formula was slowly evolving to look like this:
integration into church community + discipleship + walking your talk= relationship with Jesus
(notice that accepting Jesus as Savior is missing from this formula)
( *discipleship: the intentional practice of growing in relationship with Jesus individually and with a community of believers)
Not as many students could name a date, time, or place when they became a Christian; it was simply who they became. There was no need for a moment of salvation when they asked Jesus into their hearts. This rearranged formula resonated with me because it seemed to be a more natural way of coming to faith. I felt like a more genuine youth minister when I had conversations with students without the pressure of determining if they were "saved." I felt more authentic in my preaching when I didn't feel the need to end my sermons with an altar call. The ministry I was working for had similar values, allowing me to thrive on mentoring relationships and preaching that were about letting Jesus impact how we live in the here and now. The fact that my understanding of salvation was shifting and changing added to my healthy inquiry about other evangelical practices.
Along with a renewed understanding of salvation, I was doggedly persistent in understanding gender as it related to ministerial leadership. As a female developing my career as a youth pastor, and a person who held a deep respect for the infallibility of the Bible, I had to come to terms with what the Bible said about women. I took classes, read books, wrote an inordinate amount of research papers, and had discussions with scholars on the topic of women's social and ministerial roles. How could I have such a strong calling to a vocation that the Bible, and most of Christendom, seemed to reserve for men? There are exhaustive amounts of research that support every viewpoint on the spectrum. My conclusion was the different denominations interpreted the Bible differently, and that the interpretations I was drawn toward supported women in ministry. This process of dissecting the Bible and reading the extant myriad of scholarly perspectives, along with experiencing reactions ranging from hostility to full support of my calling, forged in me a latent skeptic who would eventually cast all other absolute assertions under a dubious shadow.
Throughout my college and early ministry years, I noticed that other behaviors and beliefs in the Christian sub-culture were bothersome to me, which lead to my steady inquiry of these behaviors, and a more measured percolation of what I really believed. I was realizing that much of the questioning that I dealt with on a conscious level tended to be more about skepticism in regards to correct evangelical behavior being equated with correct belief, and correct belief being equal to the most correct expression of Christianity. Did drinking a beer mean I was not following Jesus? Did having sexual desires mean that I was not listening to God? Did listening to KLOVE and Jars of Clay make me a more committed Christ-follower (and reveal a horrible taste in music)? I needed to parse what my religion said was true from what I knew, and from what I was learning from non-evangelical scholars, about what was true about Jesus. I was not yet asking questions about the infallibility of the Bible or whether Jesus was God. I had my blinders up to the inconsistencies in theology, church history, Biblical scholarship, and really, blinders up around my entire worldview, because my beliefs were ordinary to me, part of how the majority of the people in my life saw the world. There was not an inkling in my mind that Jesus was not God, not a doubt, as the words in O Holy Night profess, that Jesus is the savior of the world. Those questions came much later. At this point, I was simply noticing that within evangelicalism, different people said different things about what it means to act like a Christian, but we all agreed that having Jesus--God and Savior, in our hearts and demonstrated in our lives, was a non-negotiable.
It wasn't until several years after I left my ministry career, that I would allow myself to ponder who Jesus really was to me. As you might have guessed, Part V, Section B on your W-2, will continue to unveil this evolution.
Over time we began to slowly un-get to know each other, and week by week things started unraveling for us. I was dealing with an intense inner struggle with guilt and integrity—the Rachel I hoped I was showing to my evangelical world was strong in faith and morals, on the right path with God. The Rachel I kept inside was persevarating over the fact that my priorities were tilting, unbalanced, toward my boyfriend and away from God. Our relationship continued on a downward spiral and I knew I needed to break up with him, but I just couldn’t muster the courage to do it. I was afraid of hurting his feelings, afraid of ending a longtime friendship, afraid of being alone. Lucky for me, he was the brave one and broached the breakup conversation. It was what they call a "mutual breakup," occurring in the front seat of his car, parked next to a big, crescent-shaped lake in St. Pete. Though it was mutual, it was still difficult, and at the same time, exactly what I needed.
Relief was the most powerful thing that I felt as I walked back to my car and drove away from my now ex-boyfriend. I headed straight to North Shore Park next to Tampa Bay to pray and think. I paced in the stiff, Augustine grass with The Pier in the distance. I was throwing my hands up toward the sky in resolution, pledging my life to God with tears streaming down my face. “I’ll do whatever you want God. I want my life to be Yours. I’m sorry for ignoring You.” After almost two years of sitting on the proverbial fence, teetering back and forth between a life dedicated to God and a life dedicated to a boy, I couldn’t have it both ways, and I didn’t have to have it both ways anymore. I wanted to surrender to Jesus, to live a pure life, walk the talk, live out my faith so that others knew without a doubt that I was a Christian. I wanted all in. So I shouted out my pledge to God that day, looking like someone who had just lost her mind, pacing by the Bay, but feeling like someone who had just found herself. I considered this experience the real start of my relationship with Jesus.
After my true conversion by the Bay, I stopped asking Jesus into my heart and worrying if he was really there. I threw myself into evangelical Christian study, especially around topics of prayer and relationships. I read books on praying, and began to regularly write my prayers in a journal. Prayer was my way to maintain an ongoing relationship with God. I also began reading about what right Christian relationships look like, gravitating toward Elisabeth Eliot’s Passion and Purity (this book makes I Kissed Dating Goodbye look like porn) and other books that helped me learn to reign in my sexual desire and repress any tendencies to take initiative of any kind in a relationship. I rededicated my future relationships to letting the man take the lead and abstaining from physical contact, as well as commissioned my friend’s father, a jeweler, to craft a purity ring for me (purity ring=I will not have sex with you until you are my husband). All of which lead to no serious relationships for the next seven years. I engaged in more spiritual conversations with adults at my church, started sitting in the front row during sermons and taking notes, revitalized my leadership with middle school students, and I also applied to Colorado Christian University (CCU) in hopes of transferring there after getting my AA. At my community college I took a class on religious writings, and even dared go on a date with a boy who was a late-night DJ for a local Catholic radio station. This ended quickly though, as I reminded myself that Catholics weren’t really Christians and I would be unequally yoked in a relationship with him. I was genuinely changed, inside and out, by my renewed relationship with God, and I was beginning to strengthen my commitment to evangelical values. My morphing relationship with Jesus was about giving my whole life over to him and letting what was true on the inside show on the outside, coupled with appropriate evangelical social behavior. This was a season when, if you were to ask me, "Are you saved?" I would be able to confidently answer yes. This was also a season when evangelicalism, Christianity, and salvation were all the same thing to me; my life felt congruent and I felt alive.
_____________________________________
I was accepted to Colorado Christian University (or, CCU--go Cougars!), packed everything I owned into my 1989 Nissan Sentra, and embarked on the pilgrimage of a lifetime to Arvada, Colorado. This was a huge leap of faith for me to leave life as I knew it, and trust God as he led me to the wild west. During my first four yeas of living in Colorado, I dedicated my life to becoming a youth pastor. I was majoring in Biblical Studies at CCU, deciding not to major in Youth Ministry, because in my humble 21-year-old opinion, it didn't focus enough on Biblical scholarship, and I was working as a youth pastor intern at one of the best youth ministries in the country. My Biblical Studies classes were fascinating and I was falling in love with the Bible, in particular the socio-historical contexts within which it was written. Engaging in scholarly study of the Bible deepened my attachment to my relationship with Jesus and evangelical Christianity. Along with my studies, I'd had a powerful, mystical experience with God that lead me to accept his call to go into youth ministry.
I had been consulting with friends and anguished for months in prayer, begging God to give me the go ahead to be a youth pastor. Despite strong trust in God, my passion for working with students (I was taking a full course load and working two jobs, but always made sure I could be at church volunteering on Sundays and Wednesdays), and my obsession with learning about the Bible, God was not revealing his will to me; I was expecting him to show me in some blatant and concrete way (think Balaam’s Ass) that I was supposed to be a youth pastor. I pleaded in journals for God to show me what to do, and asked that my will would not get in the way. I feared that my will was being selfish for wanting to do what seemed to come naturally to me—it couldn’t be God’s will if I enjoyed it so much. I believed that something that was of God’s will ought to require suffering and sacrifice; youth ministry was fulfilling and fun! I sat up one night with my roommate and best friend, asking her opinion. She was a youth intern at the time, the only female in youth ministry that I had ever met. One of my reservations about entering this field was that I was a female. Women in leadership were rare in my tradition; it was truly hard to be what I could not see. But, here, my best friend was a successful youth intern and well on her way to leading her own youth group someday. Some people grow up in churches where the youth pastor was an unpaid, glorified Sunday School teacher. My denomination placed a high value on youth ministers, providing a salary and benefits, and viewed them as important players on the church staff who were part of the leadership of the church. This is what I was aiming for: youth ministry as a profession, as an identity, not as something I did on the side. As I disclosed all my doubts to my friend about why I shouldn’t be a youth pastor: was I good enough, would I be a good preacher, could I be as creative and influential as other youth pastors, could I hack it as one of few females? She simply said, “Okay, still why not? I think you know the answer is Yes, but you are the only one saying No.” As if to say, you’re reasons are not good enough, and you know what you should do. She encouraged me to consider that I could grow into the role, and I would learn along the way. I think I expected myself to be the best youth pastor ever before I decided to be a youth pastor. Though my friend was inspiring, I still needed God to affirm what I already knew about myself—and I would not accept it until God himself said Yes.
And God obliged.
In February of 1999, my soul was more restless and stormier than usual. My patience for God’s answer was wearing thin. I needed to know if I, Rachel Keener, was called to be a youth pastor. Tired of wallowing, praying, begging, and consulting, I decided to hop in my car and go for a drive to work this all out with Jesus and be done with it. I left my house at 10pm and my destination was not a physical one: I was on a quest to know God’s will. As I headed north toward Broomfield, I brashly told God that I wasn’t going home until he gave me a clear answer as to whether or not I should be a youth pastor. The beginning of this conversation was unrequited, so I kept driving. I turned south and drove 45 minutes to Lakewood, toward CCU. Nothing but silence, dripping with frustration filled my little red Sentra. “Why aren’t you saying anything, giving me any signs God?!” When I got close to CCU, I started thinking about a check I had sitting on the front seat of my car. I was getting after myself for not having deposited my check and thinking how foolish it was for me to not put this money in my account so I could actually use it. For some reason, this line of thinking about my un-deposited check made me think about my trust in God about his will. I saw it as a metaphor for how I was relating with him, he was saying to me, “Rachel, I’ve given you what you need, all you have to do is use it—deposit yourself to me, and I will use you.” I felt as if God was breaking the silence and I quickly pulled over into a WalMart parking lot. It was past midnight now and I thought I could wander around WalMart and keep talking to God. This particular Walmart disappointingly closed at 10, so I sat in my car, listening for more of God. I still wanted more proof that this was really God talking and that he was telling me what to do. I pulled out my journal and flipped back to some of my writing and prayers. The page I happened to open to said SURRENDER in all caps in the middle of the page. I saw this as another sign to simply let go and trust God. I also started getting the feeling that God was really right there with me, a powerful and supernatural feeling. I grabbed my Bible, and performed the most non-scholarly approach to reading it: opened it to a random page and started reading, hoping God would speak directly to me. I opened to the book of Job—oh great, the most depressing book in the Bible. My eyes landed on Job 22:21, “Submit to God and be at peace with him; in this way prosperity will be with you.” Holy shit, this was getting weird! I couldn’t believe what was happening, from the check metaphor, to the journal entry, and now words straight from the Bible. God seemed to be doing what I asked, giving me a very blatant and direct sign. “God, I think I get what You’re are saying, surrender and trust You that I can be a youth pastor.” I was now ready to say Yes because God was saying Yes to me. In order to be official (and holy), I slid my seat back, got down on my knees, in my tiny car in the WalMart parking lot, and dedicated my life to being a youth pastor, emphasizing my trust in God, knowing that he would guide the way. Another moment when I am certain I looked crazy, but felt alive.
My calling, along with my Biblical studies, were anchors for my relationship with Jesus. I could not understand how others went through life without him. I wasn’t ashamed to let people in on this spiritual aspect of my life either. If Facebook was around back then I would have been posting Bible verses, praise and worship lyrics, and nuggets of truth I was learning from scholarly articles and exegetically-based sermons. Some probably would have found me pretty annoying as a FB friend, and others would have “Liked” the hell out of all my postings because I was so bold and educated in my faith. I was open about my belief and practice, wore my purity ring on my hand, read my Bible in public, engaged in conversations with strangers about Jesus, didn’t swear (unless I was joking around), and tried to live my life so that everyone would see Jesus in me. One of my part-time jobs was baking bread for an amazing little company, Great Harvest, whose values included having fun. Truthfully, I didn’t get to bake anything. I was a humble dough-kneader who got the bread ready for the oven. I really enjoyed my quirky band of coworkers, the only non-Christians I spent time with: Gary the owner, who would ride his bike to work from the foothills, Ted my immediate supervisor who was a committed runner and bread enthusiast, Pam my colleague who always made me laugh with her southern accent and a hankering for triathlons, Sherry who was quietly kind and kept to herself as she endured an abusive relationship, and Dan, my favorite, my mountain climbing, bike riding, hill running friend. Dan and I spent hours talking and he always showed a genuine interest in my life. He even asked about my purity ring, “Are you married?” “No, it’s a purity ring, to not have sex before I am married.” “Wow, oh, okay.” And he didn’t make fun of me or act like I was a weirdo. My ministry colleagues would often stop in to Great Harvest to say hello while I was working, and of course, anyone who stops in to Great Harvest gets a free, thick slice of fresh baked bread (my friends came a lot). Dan got to know some of my friends because of their frequent stop-ins. On one particular day, Dan and I were loading a cart with scones and cookies. As I squatted down to place a treat on the bottom shelf, Dan asked me a striking question: “I’ve noticed how nice your friends are from your church. You all treat each other so well and seem to have really good relationships. What makes you all like that?” This is the question most evangelicals only wish they could hear! An open door to witness, to share our faith. I walked right into that door and told Dan what it was all about. “Well, I don’t want to sound corny and religious, but honestly, the thing that makes us the way we are is our relationships with Jesus. Jesus makes the difference in our lives.” As he did when responding to my purity ring, he simply smiled and said okay. I was quaking on the inside because I was bold enough to speak up about Jesus and the difference he made in my life. And then I lead Dan through the sinner's prayer and he said he owed me his life. Okay, not really. Dan simply continued to be my friend and showed no interest in getting to know Jesus, but I felt satisfied knowing that at least he knew what I was about.
Aside from the social indicators of my evangelicalism and faith in Jesus, I was in step theologically as well. I knew full well that Jesus was the only way to God, not one option, but the only way. The way to get to Jesus was to accept him into my heart by admitting that I was a sinner and asking him to take away my sins. Jesus being born unto a virgin was something I wholly accepted without question, and to think otherwise was like believing the sun revolved around the earth (Galileo and Copernicus might have something to say here). I also knew that God existed in the form of the Holy Trinity—Father, Son (Jesus), and Holy Spirit. As much as that was hard to fathom, and for the intensity level that I studied this idea in school, it never made sense, but I accepted it on faith. To me, Catholics and Mainliners were not really Christians, and they needed Jesus too, and people like Mother Theresa and Ghandi would not be going to heaven without professing Jesus as their Savior. My professors were experts at explaining how and why our theology was logical and irrefutable, which made me even more devoted to God and knowing Jesus. Outside of my coursework I was reading books about Jesus on my own as well. Books like, The Case for Christ; The Jesus I Never Knew; and The Return of the Prodigal Son helped to deepen my love for Jesus and enrich my relationship with him. I added in a little Catcher in the Rye to keep it real too. I also read books on Christian disciplines to help me become a better practice-er of the faith. Through it all, I wrote regularly in my journal, often talking to God through my pen, as well as praying for others around me. It was very normal to find me at a coffee shop or Denny's, holed away in a corner, scratching away in my Moleskin. Having Jesus in my heart was not just a ticket to heaven, but the the center of a lifelong, life-changing relationship that guided every aspect of my life.
As much as I loved the Bible and was confident in Jesus, I wasn't a Bible-thumper, nor did I go out of my way to impose my beliefs onto others. If people asked, like Dan, I was excited to share my faith, but I wasn't about to stand on a street corner or come to your house to convert you. Over time, a few of my classes helped me challenge some of the conventional social indicators of evangelicalism that were comfortable for me (things previously mentioned: drinking, purity ring, cussing, etc.) and I was also part of what I considered an unconventional evangelical church denomination. I prided myself on being part of a denomination whose unofficial motto when it came to theological or behavioral differences was, "show me where it's written." As in, show me where it is written in the Bible. As in, show me where it is written that baptism by immersion is the only true baptism, for example. I think they, and I, would add to that, "show me how you responsibly interpret it." The church where I was doing my youth ministry internship modeled this unconventional approach as well. We sold beer at Broncos games for fundraisers, hosted edgy teaching series on things like sex, and understanding other religions. Our rock and roll, professionally produced, youth ministry program held semi-celebrity status in the Denver suburbs as the place to go on Sunday mornings. Our senior pastor was a refreshingly genuine person who made Christianity appealing--and he advocated for women in ministry. If you have not grown up in, or experienced the evangelical sub-cultural, our church and denomination were considered less conservative. At the same time, we absolutely adhered to the theological Statement of Faith of the National Association of Evangelicals (http://www.nae.net/about-us/statement-of-faith). At that time in my life, I could not separate my relationship with Jesus from my theological context--I came to know Jesus in this context, and my relationship with him grew there as well. To have a relationship with Jesus meant I also believed in evangelical theology. Though my church and denomination aligned with evangelical theology, their unconventional behaviors, compared to more traditional denominations, allowed me to begin distinguish between Jesus and a system of beliefs: selling beer at my church was okay, while selling beer at another church was ungodly. How could it be that one place said I was ungodly while another did not? These kinds of observations, intertwined with other observations, inspired me to gingerly open the door for more questions from my little Keener head.
Other observations came through one of my most mind-blowing classes on the topic of the history of evangelicalism. In this class, we were reading a book called The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind. This book challenged that fact the evangelicals were not investing in a serious intellectual life or participating in and contributing to academic communities. This book and this class inspired me to use my brain to ask questions about other evangelical assertions that I took at face value. These questions were a mix of theological and social expressions of evangelicals. Two core issues for me were salvation--or more specifically, the way in which people began a relationship with Jesus, and gender.
The idea that accepting Jesus into our hearts, via the sinner's prayer, as a marker for our salvation, was becoming bothersome to me. I learned that the sinner's prayer was less than a century old, and that indicators of being a true Christian changed all the time throughout history.
Pop Quiz
You know you are a Christian if you are:
a. Catholic b. Protestant c. Orthodox d. Morman e. Jehovah's Witness f. Coptic g. attend Mass f. attend church g. baptized by immersion h. take Communion via intinction i. a person who says Eucharist instead of Communion j. a Republican k. a Democrat l. a nuclear family n.a Calvinist o. a Broncos fan
I realize I'm being cheeky here, but seriously, I was genuinely bothered by what defined us as Christians. The perspective I was taking on was that it is most important to have relationship with Jesus, no matter how that relationship began, no matter what theological system someone most resonated with, and no matter if your church sold beer at Broncos games. My youth pastor colleagues and I were noticing that the formulaic approach to becoming a Christian in our evangelical subculture, was transitioning into something different. My generation's formula looked like this:
accept Jesus as Savior + discipleship* + integration into church community + walking your talk= mature Christian
The formula was slowly evolving to look like this:
integration into church community + discipleship + walking your talk= relationship with Jesus
(notice that accepting Jesus as Savior is missing from this formula)
( *discipleship: the intentional practice of growing in relationship with Jesus individually and with a community of believers)
Not as many students could name a date, time, or place when they became a Christian; it was simply who they became. There was no need for a moment of salvation when they asked Jesus into their hearts. This rearranged formula resonated with me because it seemed to be a more natural way of coming to faith. I felt like a more genuine youth minister when I had conversations with students without the pressure of determining if they were "saved." I felt more authentic in my preaching when I didn't feel the need to end my sermons with an altar call. The ministry I was working for had similar values, allowing me to thrive on mentoring relationships and preaching that were about letting Jesus impact how we live in the here and now. The fact that my understanding of salvation was shifting and changing added to my healthy inquiry about other evangelical practices.
Along with a renewed understanding of salvation, I was doggedly persistent in understanding gender as it related to ministerial leadership. As a female developing my career as a youth pastor, and a person who held a deep respect for the infallibility of the Bible, I had to come to terms with what the Bible said about women. I took classes, read books, wrote an inordinate amount of research papers, and had discussions with scholars on the topic of women's social and ministerial roles. How could I have such a strong calling to a vocation that the Bible, and most of Christendom, seemed to reserve for men? There are exhaustive amounts of research that support every viewpoint on the spectrum. My conclusion was the different denominations interpreted the Bible differently, and that the interpretations I was drawn toward supported women in ministry. This process of dissecting the Bible and reading the extant myriad of scholarly perspectives, along with experiencing reactions ranging from hostility to full support of my calling, forged in me a latent skeptic who would eventually cast all other absolute assertions under a dubious shadow.
Throughout my college and early ministry years, I noticed that other behaviors and beliefs in the Christian sub-culture were bothersome to me, which lead to my steady inquiry of these behaviors, and a more measured percolation of what I really believed. I was realizing that much of the questioning that I dealt with on a conscious level tended to be more about skepticism in regards to correct evangelical behavior being equated with correct belief, and correct belief being equal to the most correct expression of Christianity. Did drinking a beer mean I was not following Jesus? Did having sexual desires mean that I was not listening to God? Did listening to KLOVE and Jars of Clay make me a more committed Christ-follower (and reveal a horrible taste in music)? I needed to parse what my religion said was true from what I knew, and from what I was learning from non-evangelical scholars, about what was true about Jesus. I was not yet asking questions about the infallibility of the Bible or whether Jesus was God. I had my blinders up to the inconsistencies in theology, church history, Biblical scholarship, and really, blinders up around my entire worldview, because my beliefs were ordinary to me, part of how the majority of the people in my life saw the world. There was not an inkling in my mind that Jesus was not God, not a doubt, as the words in O Holy Night profess, that Jesus is the savior of the world. Those questions came much later. At this point, I was simply noticing that within evangelicalism, different people said different things about what it means to act like a Christian, but we all agreed that having Jesus--God and Savior, in our hearts and demonstrated in our lives, was a non-negotiable.
It wasn't until several years after I left my ministry career, that I would allow myself to ponder who Jesus really was to me. As you might have guessed, Part V, Section B on your W-2, will continue to unveil this evolution.
Rachel, I've just finished reading this and am so moved. Thank you for sharing this. I have a bazillion other thoughts but wanted to post this first. This is really important material, and your writing is gorgeous!
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