I’m Thankful for Church

The following is a modified excerpt from my book “Cancer is Not Evil,” for which I am seeking a publisher now.

Thanksgiving has arrived, and this year I want to take a moment to be thankful for the churches I’ve been fortunate enough to be a part of.

I’m thankful for the church I grew up attending, the only church I called home from the day I was born until I left town to go to college. Located in South Bend, Indiana, it was a rather academic church attended by a great many professors and (mostly graduate) students at the University of Notre Dame, Bethel, and Saint Mary’s colleges. This church wasn’t academic in the sense that it was impersonal or that the Christian faith was portrayed as some theoretical or speculative consideration, but it was an extremely intellectually vibrant community, one that I grew up thinking was normal. People like Alvin Plantinga went to my church, and it wasn’t until I was ten or twelve that I realized he was perhaps the preeminent Christian philosopher alive. As a kid, I knew him simply as “Al,” a really nice guy at church who talked to my Sunday School once about rock climbing.

Looking back I see now how such a church environment fostered in me a desire for a greater intellectual understanding of God as well as an appreciation for robust sermons. It is in so many ways because of my church in South Bend that I learned to grow from my doubts and ask the kinds of questions I find fascinating and faith-deepening. As far as I’m concerned you can’t grow up going to church with philosophers and not become keenly interested in the deeper, weirder questions of Christianity. This certainly held true for me at least, and I remain immensely grateful for ways this church fostered in me an abiding love for the intellectual side of Christianity that has saved me from a crisis of faith more than once.

I’m thankful too for the church I went to while in college and the one I attend now, for they have influenced me in important and helpful ways as well. Both in the Anabaptist tradition, these Brethren in Christ and Mennonite churches have helped me grow in my understanding of my citizenship in heaven and how to regard that first and foremost. I’ve never been a part of an overtly nationalistic or patriotic church so I’ve never been especially tempted to regard the United States as God’s chosen country or equate Christianity with patriotism or membership in any particular political party. But I have on occasion visited churches with American flags up front, and I’ve been friends with plenty of people who hold such views so I’m not ignorant about Christian Nationalism either. This emphasis of the Mennonite Church I attend now seems especially relevant today as Christian Nationalism in this country grows ever-stronger. What it means to regard citizenship in heaven above my citizenships in the US and Canada, and what it means to work for God’s kingdom rather than any political entity here on earth has really helped me as I process the current political landscape and the deepening mire we seem to be sinking into right now.

I’m also thankful for what these churches have taught me about living simply and what it means to balance living differently because of my faith without becoming irrelevant or absurd to the rest of the world. At these churches I’ve found that it’s not about visibly denying yourself the luxuries, comforts, and ways of the world in an effort to be set apart from it, as some insist. But neither is it about dismissing that idea altogether as many do and living no differently—except perhaps on Sunday morning—than anyone else. Living a simple, Christlike life isn’t about merely doing the opposite of whatever might be considered secular for the sake of holiness, but neither does it shrug off nor disregard the idea that following Jesus requires living in profoundly different ways from those who don’t. It isn’t about making a show of driving a cheaper car than you could afford or publicly boycotting this movie or that singer, but it isn’t embracing every facet of our deeply unhealthy consumer-driven capitalist society either.

Instead, it is the idea that we should try to live a life that runs counter to our materialistic culture in ways that don’t necessarily look different on the outside but feel different on the inside. It might mean making do with less, and it might mean buying ourselves the very best we can afford. It depends on the circumstances and the reasons we hold in our hearts for doing so. It means not judging others for the way we perceive their life choices and asking others to extend the same grace to us. It is only in the last few years that I feel I truly understand what it means to follow Christ with regards to the way I interact with the broader culture I’m a part of, and it’s a lesson that feels especially relevant as we approach Christmas, the most secularized and commercialized of the Christian holy days.

Finally, I’m thankful for criticism and critiques of Christianity and The Church as well. There’s plenty going around right now, and I implore you to check out #EmptyThePews or #ChurchToo if you don’t know what I’m talking about. Under these hashtags you’ll find harrowing reads, stories that need to be told so we can properly confront the issues pervading American Christianity today. So much dirt has been swept under the rugs in our churches that we’re finally tripping on the lumps, and it’s an ugly, necessary process that I’m glad is taking place.

I guess I’m really just thankful for The Church, that weird, wonderful, profoundly flawed community that, like us all, is worth saving, even and especially when it seems irredeemable.

Roy Moore is Just a Reboot

Everything about this Roy Moore situation is unsurprising. This already happened when the Access Hollywood tape of Trump bragging about committing sexual assault came out and millions said “gosh darn that’s disturbing if true” and then elected the man President of the United States. The same principle is still at work today, and while it’s manifesting itself to increasingly disturbing extents, it isn’t anything novel. It’s just a sad reboot of a terrible original.

So when I hear someone say that Mary was a teenager while Joseph was probably in his 30s, and they were parents to Jesus so what Roy Moore did might not be all that bad, it isn’t shocking. When I see someone on twitter write that a pedophile is still better than any democrat, I check that it’s a real person but it doesn’t surprise me when it turns out they are. This is the world today. Actually, this is the world as it’s always been, laid bare for all to see.

Part of me misses last year when everyone at least pretended to be morally opposed to sexual assault. But most of me considers this part of a necessary growing process. We’re better off realizing that some people will justify or willfully ignore literally anything for the sake of political power.

We’re also better off now that many people can no longer pretend their homophobia and opposition to marriage equality has anything to do with sexual morality. We’re better off now that fewer people can act like their opposition to trans people using the correct bathroom has anything to do with protecting children from sexual assault. People still will, of course, but they have no pretense of a platform anymore.

Yes, it’s extremely disturbing that so many people are defending Roy Moore. But it really isn’t anything new, and it’ll leave us better off in the long run. Take heart.

Concerning Thoughts and Prayers

I really, truly hate that the subject of ‘thoughts and prayers’ gains relevance so frequently. Those words have become part of a bleak ritual in America, a liturgical cycle of sorts. Monthly or weekly another batch of lives are taken by largely-preventable instances of gun violence, and monthly or weekly we hold vigils by candlelight, use hashtags of yet another town’s name followed by the word ‘strong,’ and pause for a moment of silence at sporting events. And then we move on, until the next round.

Always in this ritual thoughts and prayers are offered to the survivors, those who must forever live haunted by memories of horrific violence and loved ones senselessly lost. And every time, thoughts and prayers are offered as a rote response unaccompanied by any meaningful actions. It reminds me of James 2:16 and it breaks my heart.

It reminds me of my own cancer as well. My cancer won’t disappear because people are mindful of my disease. My tumors won’t shrink with prayer alone, should I choose to forgo treatment. Please do remember me and pray for me, but also understand that I have needed every kind of treatment available to keep my disease minimized, including treatments still being tested. Understand that I’d much rather be treated by an atheist willing to try some surgery or new drug than a Christian who offers prayer as the only course of treatment. And if you’re in a position to influence our laws and regulations, think and pray about the actions you can take to reduce gun violence. Think and pray about what you might do for those who will otherwise be victims of tomorrow’s shooting.

NaNoWriMo Plans

It's November, or National Novel Writing Month. For the first time ever I'm going to participate! At least, I'm going to publicly state my writing goals and post updates and hope that keeps me on track. So, I'm hoping to get the second book in the Legacy of Rythka series done by the end of the month! Well, a first draft, that is. I have about 37,000 words to go, plus a decent amount of rewriting for the first half of the book which I already have done. I'll also work some on The Sundering of Rythka and Other Tales, a history of the world of Rythka in a similar style to Tolkien's Silmarillion.  I plan to post daily updates of my word count on my twitter, and I'll update regularly here too.