My 13-year-old son’s shocking confession forced me to confront my tendency to obscure Jesus behind the “religious” parts of my faith.
As is the case for many Americans, I use the Christmas and New Year holidays as a time to reflect and try to gain perspective on matters near and dear to me. So one recent evening, I sat down with my sons to discuss where we are spiritual as a family, and to get a read on their individual faith journeys. I never could have imagined what I heard or the impact it would have on me.
Our conversation began simply enough. I asked each of them to share how they feel about where they are with God. I intentionally left it open-ended so they wouldn’t feel like I was steering them in a specific direction. I could see the antennae going up in my 13-year-old’s brain, so I reassured them that this was not Mom on some kind of surreptitious fact-finding mission, looking for ammunition to blast them to kingdom come if they didn’t give the “right” responses. The antennae retracted, and the words began to flow.
Me: So, son (the 13-year-old), how’s it going for you spiritually?
Son: OK, I guess … Well, maybe not so OK.
Me: What do you mean?
Son: Well, I’m still praying some, and I kinda remember to read my devotions sometimes, but … I don’t know …
Me: It’s OK, just be honest.
Son: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, I really want to know how you feel.
Son: Well, I love God and everything. I know I need to follow Him and do the right things, but it’s just … the Christianity thing.
Alarms went off in my head, and everything in me went on full alert. What did he mean “the Christianity thing”? He was about to tell me.
Son: I mean, Christians … all they talk about is going to church, which movies you shouldn’t watch, do this, don’t do that … this music is bad, don’t look at porn …
[ Me (in my head): OH, LORD … porn?!?! Maybe I’m not ready for this conversation after all. ]
Me: OK, so what’s the problem? We should be obedient to Christ, right?
Son (now getting more animated): Yeah, I know, but it’s just the way they are … everything is do this, don’t do that … blah blah blah.
Me: Are you saying you don’t want to be a Christian anymore?
Son: No, Mom.
Me: Well, are you saying you don’t want to walk with Christ anymore?
Son: No, no, that’s not it. I want to walk with Christ. It’s Christianity that doesn’t interest me.
Whoa. What was my boy saying? And how was he able to draw this distinction between Christ and Christianity? I assumed he considered them to be one and the same. But then, a flash of revelation hit me, wrapping some concepts together that I have been grappling with and teaching on during the past year.
Just like many of us adults, my child is feeling a disconnect between who he envisions Jesus to be — and what He desires and requires — and the way in which professed Christ followers go about relating to Him and requiring others to relate to Him. Are we bombarding our young disciples and those who might become disciples, with rules and regulations without stressing the Person of Jesus Christ?
My son is no theologian or scholar, but at a visceral and instinctual level, he is resisting the system we have created to facilitate a relationship with Jesus. I know that obedience is important, and apparently so does my son. But he confessed to me that he is bored with our packaging of what is supposed to be a dynamic, life-giving, robust sojourn with our Lord.
In the midst of all this revelation, another thought hit me. I am probably one of those “Christians” to whom my son is referring. After all, he has more exposure to me than anyone else. It’s not completely surprising that a teenager would feel this way since parents often stress behavior and conduct in our attempts to control and manage our offspring. Our discussion highlighted the fact that our goal should be more about influence and guidance rather than control. Also, Jesus needs to be front and center when we demonstrate Christianity; we are following a person, not just rules.
This dichotomy of Christ vs. Christianity has intrigued me. I believe it has potentially powerful implications for everything from youth ministry to family spiritual life. In my next two columns, I’ll explore this topic from different angles. First, I’ll present a roundtable discussion with other young people to find out the biggest questions and concerns they’re facing as they attempt to live out their faith in the real world. Then I’ll finish up by asking a few urban youth leaders for their thoughts and responses to my son’s and the other youths’ comments and questions.
Consider how you might be presenting, or re-presenting, Christ to the teens and young adults you know. Are we, as the bride of Christ, obstructing their view of Him with a heavy and unattractive veil of “Christianity”? I pray it won’t be so.
My 13-year-old son’s shocking confession forced me to confront my tendency to obscure Jesus behind the “religious” parts of my faith.
As is the case for many Americans, I use the Christmas and New Year holidays as a time to reflect and try to gain perspective on matters near and dear to me. So one recent evening, I sat down with my sons to discuss where we are spiritual as a family, and to get a read on their individual faith journeys. I never could have imagined what I heard or the impact it would have on me.
Our conversation began simply enough. I asked each of them to share how they feel about where they are with God. I intentionally left it open-ended so they wouldn’t feel like I was steering them in a specific direction. I could see the antennae going up in my 13-year-old’s brain, so I reassured them that this was not Mom on some kind of surreptitious fact-finding mission, looking for ammunition to blast them to kingdom come if they didn’t give the “right” responses. The antennae retracted, and the words began to flow.
Me: So, son (the 13-year-old), how’s it going for you spiritually?
Son: OK, I guess … Well, maybe not so OK.
Me: What do you mean?
Son: Well, I’m still praying some, and I kinda remember to read my devotions sometimes, but … I don’t know …
Me: It’s OK, just be honest.
Son: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, I really want to know how you feel.
Son: Well, I love God and everything. I know I need to follow Him and do the right things, but it’s just … the Christianity thing.
Alarms went off in my head, and everything in me went on full alert. What did he mean “the Christianity thing”? He was about to tell me.
Son: I mean, Christians … all they talk about is going to church, which movies you shouldn’t watch, do this, don’t do that … this music is bad, don’t look at porn …
[ Me (in my head): OH, LORD … porn?!?! Maybe I’m not ready for this conversation after all. ]
Me: OK, so what’s the problem? We should be obedient to Christ, right?
Son (now getting more animated): Yeah, I know, but it’s just the way they are … everything is do this, don’t do that … blah blah blah.
Me: Are you saying you don’t want to be a Christian anymore?
Son: No, Mom.
Me: Well, are you saying you don’t want to walk with Christ anymore?
Son: No, no, that’s not it. I want to walk with Christ. It’s Christianity that doesn’t interest me.
Whoa. What was my boy saying? And how was he able to draw this distinction between Christ and Christianity? I assumed he considered them to be one and the same. But then, a flash of revelation hit me, wrapping some concepts together that I have been grappling with and teaching on during the past year.
Just like many of us adults, my child is feeling a disconnect between who he envisions Jesus to be — and what He desires and requires — and the way in which professed Christ followers go about relating to Him and requiring others to relate to Him. Are we bombarding our young disciples and those who might become disciples, with rules and regulations without stressing the Person of Jesus Christ?
My son is no theologian or scholar, but at a visceral and instinctual level, he is resisting the system we have created to facilitate a relationship with Jesus. I know that obedience is important, and apparently so does my son. But he confessed to me that he is bored with our packaging of what is supposed to be a dynamic, life-giving, robust sojourn with our Lord.
In the midst of all this revelation, another thought hit me. I am probably one of those “Christians” to whom my son is referring. After all, he has more exposure to me than anyone else. It’s not completely surprising that a teenager would feel this way since parents often stress behavior and conduct in our attempts to control and manage our offspring. Our discussion highlighted the fact that our goal should be more about influence and guidance rather than control. Also, Jesus needs to be front and center when we demonstrate Christianity; we are following a person, not just rules.
This dichotomy of Christ vs. Christianity has intrigued me. I believe it has potentially powerful implications for everything from youth ministry to family spiritual life. In my next two columns, I’ll explore this topic from different angles. First, I’ll present a roundtable discussion with other young people to find out the biggest questions and concerns they’re facing as they attempt to live out their faith in the real world. Then I’ll finish up by asking a few urban youth leaders for their thoughts and responses to my son’s and the other youths’ comments and questions.
Consider how you might be presenting, or re-presenting, Christ to the teens and young adults you know. Are we, as the bride of Christ, obstructing their view of Him with a heavy and unattractive veil of “Christianity”? I pray it won’t be so.
If following Jesus has become a boring, monotonous experience for you, as it has for many of us, perhaps it’s because we’re afraid to act on what we claim to believe.
In my last column, I wrote about feeling the rumble of spiritual revolution within my own mind, heart, and soul, and hearing the faint whisper of a battle cry from others as well. Well, the fires of uprising within me are still being stoked, most recently by Gary Haugen in his book, Just Courage: God’s Great Expedition for the Restless Christian. I read it two nights ago and felt like I had found a good friend who understands exactly where I am. Our conversation began with these words:
Is it okay to bore grownups with the gospel? I ask the question because I sense among many Christians today a subtle but deep discontent. I don’t think they would call it boredom because that sounds too flippant, but I do sense a powerful but largely unspoken sense of disappointment in the way their Christian life is turning out. ..[A]t the end of the day we thought our Christian life would be more than this — somehow larger, more significant, more vivid, more glorious. But it’s not. Driving to church on Sunday feels a bit like Groundhog Day, the movie where Bill Murray’s character is forced to pathetically relive exactly the same day over and over again.
…It had seemed like following Christ was supposed to be a bold adventure of power and beauty and singular importance, but the reality that keeps emerging appears to be something very different. And in very deep ways, it’s disappointing.
He had me at “discontent.” And he kept my attention as he led me through the rough terrain of rationalization, generalization, and self-pity that stands between me and the life of true adventure with the Master I so long for. Excusing my milk-toast mediocrity by blaming circumstances, or reasoning that a lot of other Christians feel this way and manage to make peace with it, or feeling sorry for myself don’t cut it. At the end of the day, I’m forced to deal squarely with the harsh truth: I’m just afraid. Maybe you are, too.
I’m afraid to let go of the ordinary because it’s what I’ve known. But I’m beginning to realize that while ordinary has been a companion, it’s never been a friend. Using our talents and gifts in a way that we can control, in arenas with which we’re familiar, is not the path to overflowing living that we’re all called to. It’s the path to … Well, what we all experience. Predictability. Boredom. Wanting more.
But how do we get from here to there?
Maybe like me you have an education, ministry experience, drive, and passion. Yet I’m asking as the rich young ruler did, “What do I still lack?” Quite simply, courage.
Haugen, who is the founder and president of International Justice Mission, posits that the remedy for this kind of restlessness is to abandon the desire for comfort, safety, and certainty. I see that these things keep my feet firmly planted in what Haugen refers to as the “Christian cul-de-sac of triviality and small fears.”
Sure, we see grave and glaring injustice and know that it’s evil. We can intellectually condemn violence and oppression. But we need to take action. And that is the heart of how he describes courage: taking action even when it is scary and hard, and especially when what we’re moving toward is dangerous and could potentially overtake us. Haugen’s battlefields involve fighting for justice against aggressive evil and violent oppression. Sex trafficking of women and girls, property pirated away from widows, and modern-day slavery — these are his pathways to courage.
It sure sounds exciting, but maybe a little too exotic for most of us. We’ve got bills, laundry, fundraisers, deadlines, children, church, and bad hair days to contend with. But it’s great that someone is taking these things on, right?
Perhaps there needs to be a smaller beginning. If you frequently visit this website, you’ve read articles about Black teenagers living lives of sexual degradation; the brutal death of a teenager at the hands of his neighbors and classmates; urban children being educated in substandard schools; and the urgent need for healing and restoration in our communities. Have you ever responded in any way to anything you’ve read?
I issue a “courage challenge” to every visitor to this site: 1) pick one issue represented by an article, 2) pray about it every day for seven days, and 3) email a friend and ask them to do the same.
We can each find our own pathway to courage, and Jesus will direct us to and meet us on the path. By taking my first step on my path, I see Jesus walking into a brothel, crack house, or slave trade business and bringing freedom to people trapped by the evil of their oppressors.
The most shocking thing of all? Jesus looks like me. And He looks like you, too.
If race, as many agree, is a social construct, why are Christians so good at holding on to it as a way to define, describe, and divide ourselves? 
If following Jesus has become a boring, monotonous experience for you, as it has for many of us, perhaps it’s because we’re afraid to act on what we claim to believe.
Our spiritual restlessness is often a precursor to something big God wants to do in the world — and in us.