Aspiration Toward Inspiration

Perhaps if I lived in another area of the country, when I said, “I am a Christian,” people would not be so disappointed by my statement. But perhaps if I lived in another area of the country, I would have a hard time finding anyone else who would use the term in a remotely similar way.

There are a few things that go on in people’s heads (and often, that come from their mouths), when I [announce or admit or something in between] that I am a Christian:

1. Oh God, another ignorant, unevolved, and uncultured mind.
2. (This one is more often the reaction of people who’ve been “exposed” to my words and behaviors.) What??? You seemed so normal. This one is confusion and a clash of “Joliene” with “Christian” in what both mean in their heads. I have a foul mouth, I rant about gay rights and abortion rights and feminism and how Muslims are misunderstood and I often go off on how much I hate Evangelism. I am open about my sexual nature, I have few Christian friends and have had fewer Christian boyfriends. For most people, the combination of this list with “Christian” is a math problem that can yield no answer—the computer does not understand this series of statements.
3. Damn, another intelligent mind lost to religion. Or: Damn, she seemed smart.

What’s often more surprising when I say “Christian” is that I don’t just mean that I wear a necklace and have some kind of vague belief in God and an affinity for some first century rabbi. I go to church. Not only do I show up every Sunday, I am involved in my church. I’m part of a committee (CFE), I sign up to help with coffee hour, I go to educational classes, I sign up to read scripture, I volunteer at our shelter, I’m an active participant in the 20s/30s group—I volunteer for everything I can. And to top it off, I plan on going to seminary. I want to be a minister.

I know, right?

So WHY? I don’t really believe in Heaven, I don’t believe that Jesus is my salvation, I don’t think it’s wrong to be other-than-Christian (this even includes atheists, Muslims, and Mormons!), I wasn’t raised religiously, so I am not honoring or dishonoring my family by becoming religious… I know about other religions. For the last 4 years, I’ve been working on a B.A. in Comparative Religion. I know what other religions have to offer and the flaws of my own.

Why am I a Christian? Why do I go to church every Sunday? Why do I want to be a minister?

Because I love it; it is beautiful.

The first time I read the gospels from the small print of the little orange KJV New Testament handed to me on a street corner by an Evangelist, I was in the 7th grade. I read it sitting on my bedroom floor, leaning against the wooden frame of my bed. These details are not what matters, but my memory of their introduction to my life shows its importance. The first time I read the gospels, I cried.

The message of Jesus, for me, is this: Live a Life of passion. Believe what you believe—don’t just offer lip service. Live it. Be it.

If you say there are too many people hungry, feed them. If you say there is too much value placed on material things, truly place your values on love. If you say all people are created in God’s image, fight for human dignity and stand up for the lives of those whom society has deemed “immoral” or “guilty” or “inferior.”

Jesus didn’t die for our sins—he didn’t die so that we could sit on our couch and watch American Idol and still get into Heaven. Jesus died because he was unwilling to compromise his values.

Jesus led the kind of life that I cannot. He gave up a sense of normalcy; he gave up a home, the prospect of raising a family, the privilege of dying of old age. He did not give that up for our SIN. He gave it up for those he saw starving, for those he saw sick, for those he saw hated.

I believe that Jesus knew God. I believe that Jesus saw what the process of this world needs to be—toward a world where we can all love each other. There will be prostitutes and tax collectors. There will be those with whom we disagree, but this doesn’t prohibit love. This doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. This doesn’t mean we can’t share a meal—share communion—and find in each other the image of God. It doesn’t mean that we can’t, together, feed the hungry and give comfort to the sick soul.

And so what, right? I don’t need to be a Christian to feed the hungry.

Christian tradition speaks to me. The gospel stories speak to me. The way my church worships speaks to me.

What is church? Church is power in numbers. I cannot form a choir by myself any or a march by myself. My church marches in the pride parade. My church has a choir that sings—because there is joy in what we do.

Why do I “do” church? Because I want to get together with people and advocate for the values we believe in: caring for the homeless and the hungry, being the diaphragm behind the voices of minorities, providing comfort and friendship, analyzing the ways we can be better at what we believe in, honoring the tradition of Jesus, and celebrating our love for one another, for God, and for this world we are endeavoring to make better.

Why do I want to be a minister? To ensure that churches become this when they are not and stay this when they are. Churches are means toward holism, toward spiritual and physical peace—toward liberty and justice for all.

That is why I am a Christian. That is why I go to church… because we are becoming the light on a hill that our ancestors sought to be: a community of love.

Just as how my love for my sister wouldn’t allow me to see her bullied, just as it would never allow me to abandon her or see her starve, it is a church’s job to speak for every member of the Human family, to provide a home, a meal, a community.

I do not only believe in justice on election days and Sundays. I believe in it now and tomorrow. I am a Christian because I am Human. I am a Christian because my hands are God’s hands and I believe in living up to that.