The courage is in the dark.

Had a really fascinating conversation with a professor yesterday.

When I first went to James River, I told her about it, and she said "What?! Did they do anything weird to you?" And I thought, well, not anything nearly as weird as asking me that question. Since then, we've talked once or twice briefly on the topic of religion, usually when I mention something going on at JRA. Yesterday, we had a full-blown discussion on faith, Christians, and Christianity. The one thing we agree on-- Jesus was a badass.

The things we disagree on, and there are many, seemed to center around two issues. The first is that the behavior of Christians is not always an accurate indicator of the spirit of Christ. The second is that faith does not have to be at odds with free thought. That is, she felt that the bad behavior of Christians was proof of some inadequacy of the faith, and that church is inherently controlling, and thus all who attend must be controlled to think, feel, act a certain way.

Understanding that the behavior of Christians is entirely separate from the realities of the Christian faith is a simple cognitive endeavor. I've understood that for years. But as this professor described the feeling she got as she walked into a church, how she felt like so many of the people were just faking it, and how their judgmentalism made her want to cry, I understood that, too. I've lived that, too. Recently. It's hard to love people to their pieces, particularly when those pieces aren't so great. What's harder still is to consider that what you think you know isn't true, just isn't quite right. Maybe those pieces aren't so bad after all. Maybe we share a level of imperfection--a few jagged edges, a cracked surface.

Churches can be controlling. They can instill a certainty that's just not there, which in turn instills a self-righteousness amongst "the body" that very often erodes the love it intends to spread. However, to live as though all faith is controlled, and thus unacceptable, is to be controlled by a fear of faith. The courageous thing is to consider the possibilities.

The reality is that every day when I leave the house, something could happen to completely turn upside down my view of the world, and of spirituality. But that's the chance I take, and one that I must take, if I am to live my life and my faith in an autonomous way. What would my faith be if steeped in certainty? If nothing could change it, nothing could be added or detracted to my understanding, my faith would be dead. It'd be worthless. I could never be convicted by a Truth, if unable to be convicted by an idea of a truth.

As we talked about these things, I shared that some of what I was encountering at JRA was less than open-minded, less than reasonable. Her responses were pretty predictable. "But I told you that you couldn't just walk in there, that they'd want to assimilate you."

And they have assimilated me. They have changed me. But that's not bad. Maybe as a factor of our rugged American individualism, or of our very Western, very suspicious regard for proof, we are change-averse, particularly, and most insidiously, when it comes to our self-concept. We know what we know, and we like it that way. We mock politicians who change their minds, and deride celebrities as they "re-invent" themselves.

But again, if unchanged by what's going on around us, can any of us claim to be drawing nearer to Truth? The nature of God is unchangeable, the goodness of Christ is unchangeable. Our understanding of those things is, and ought to be, completely malleable. As we are imperfect, our thoughts are imperfect. The process of perfection is one of open seeking, unfettered by that imperfect understanding of where we'd like to go. The courage is in the dark.