Living a Lie

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Last night, I saw a story on the evening news that saddened and disturbed me. Several times before cutting to a commercial, the news announcer offered a teaser about an upcoming story of ministers “living a lie.” I feared the worst.

And in some ways, this really was the worst: not local church pastors neck-deep in some moral scandal, the usual fare of such exposes, but ministers who are self-avowed atheists. Yet these ministers have not confessed their loss of faith. Instead, they bear it as a shameful secret while pretending to believe.

One of the two ministers featured in the story calls himself an "atheistic agnostic" “I don't think we can prove that there is not a God or that there is a God," he says, (but) "I live out my life as if there is no God." So why does he and his fellow doubting Thomas stay in the ministry? Because they need a job and feel poorly qualified to do anything else.

As with all shameful secrets, part of what consigns these ministers to a hell of misery and self-hatred is not confessing their dilemma. Granted, if one or both of them announced this Sunday morning they are atheists, they would likely be looking for a job on Monday morning. But what if they had come clean with their troubling questions long before healthy doubt congealed into the hardened amber of cynicism and despair? That’s what the Bible does.

Writhing in agony, the Psalmist confesses, “My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, ‘Where is your God?" (Psalm 42:3). Jesus cries from his cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?!” (Mark 15:34). Even Paul, the cockiest of Pharisees, admits with refreshing candor, “We see in a mirror dimly” and “know only in part” (1 Cor. 13:12).

A religion without any capacity for critical self-reflection is a cult in-the-making. By contrast, a healthy faith is one that is always growing, always stretching, always in process. And doubt--honest to God doubt--is an essential part of an ever deepening apprehension of the Divine Mystery at the heart of all things.

The difference in the original Doubting Thomas (John chapter 20) and the two agnostic wannabees in the news story is that the first went to church and confessed his doubt while the other two did not. They didn’t trust God or their fellow believers enough to confess, “I’m hurting. I’m bewildered. And I’m so afraid.”

By contrast, the original Doubting Thomas came clean with his struggle within the community of faith and as a result, found the strength to believe and hope again.

I’m grateful to belong to a church where being honest and real is not seen as the abandonment of faith but as the epicenter of where a real and living faith begins.

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A Rare Breed

by Bob Setzer, Jr. 
Our church is one of an increasingly rare breed: a congregation that is multi-generational in makeup. More and more congregations are focused on a particular group: twenty-somethings, baby boomers, young professionals on the rise, and so on. It has long been recognized that in churches, as elsewhere, “birds of a feather fly together.”

Problem is, that’s not what the Kingdom of God is supposed to look like. According to Jesus, the Kingdom of God is like a tiny seed that grows into a tree with strong, welcoming branches where all the birds of the air make their nests (Luke 13:19).

So I celebrate the diversity of ages and stations in life represented in our church. I love the spontaneity of the children, the vitality of the youth, the social conscience of the young adults, the moral earnestness of the mid-lifers, and the wisdom of the mature. I like seeing races and nationalities different from my own in worship. I like being in a church where thoughtful Democrats and Republicans can move beyond the predicable ideological posturing to ask, “What does that have to do with the Gospel?” I like being in a church where people are defined not so much by how they are alike, but how they are different and yet bound together by the Christ who forms the heart of our fellowship.

Well, okay, to be honest, most of the time I like those things, because diversity does bring with it certain tensions. People of varying generations and traditions have differing values, preferences, and expectations.

Take this Sunday’s Processional of Commitment. For the past half-century or so on the first Sunday in November--All Saints’ Sunday--members of our congregation have marched forward, one-by-one, to place a commitment card in the little church on the altar. Most older, long-time members of our church deeply value this time of celebration and commitment. It’s a special time each year when First Baptist folk leave the safety of the pew to joyously process down the aisles and publically proclaim their love for Jesus and the church!

But to some newer members of the congregation--and younger people in general--the Processional of Commitment feels a bit showy, even pretentious. This newer generation didn’t have a hand in creating this tradition and doesn’t always understand or appreciate it. Some of these folk choose to skip Processional Sunday altogether.

So let me offer a challenge: if the Processional of Commitment doesn’t appeal to you, show up anyway and sit in prayerful contemplation as others march to the regal music. And if you love the pageantry and joy of the Processional, don’t raise an eyebrow toward those who are of a more private bent. Thankfully, there is room enough for all of us at the top of Poplar for we belong to a Kingdom so much bigger than ourselves. And we serve a Lord who delights in making us One without making us all the same.

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