An act of faith.

I have not accepted Christ, in the sense that I have not said "Yes, I believe that God came to earth in this person Christ, and was killed, and resurrected as the only possible sinless sacrifice to atone for our very sinful selves." He died, that we might live.

I have been considering myself a "Christian," in the sense that I believed that this person Christ lived on the earth, and taught this amazing morality about bucking materialism, and classism, and sexism, and all sorts of other -isms, and he lived out his words to the point of death. He lived and died that we might live fully as ourselves. His morality is what we know to be true most deeply within ourselves. Even if that truth is not always the most enjoyable for us.

I was baptized as a baby, in the Lutheran church. I was not raised in the church--my experiences in church as a child were confined to a few scattered Sundays, and I distinctly remember some kids making fun of me for not knowing the words to the Lord's Prayer (oddly, a prayer that now thrills me). Until the age of 14, I could not have given you a coherent account of either the Old Testament or the New Testament. I did not know the story of Christ, or what it is he had done. I remember confusing the Old Testament stories with those of Greek and Roman mythology. I didn't know that they were not regarded in quite the same way.

I first "accepted" Christ at age 14, a decision that had more to do with the fellowship, than the promise. I became very active in the church, but soon began to question. I left the church less than two years after entering, and didn't revisit the idea of Christ until two years later, as a freshman in college. It was then that I began to read, a lot. For four years, I drifted in and out of the Christian fold, never quite making a full-on commitment to anything. When I came home from college, on a fluke, I joined a bible study at a small church in Winthrop Harbor. That bible study changed everything. It solidified for me the ways in which my life was tied up in the God Hypothesis. It was during that first year our of college that I took on the liberal theological ideas towards Christ that I have held until recently.

About ten weeks ago, I moved to Springfield, Missouri. I moved on a Saturday. On Sunday, I went to James River. More out of sociological curiosity, than actual interest. A southern, pentecostal megachurch? Count me in.

Since then, I have met some of the most amazingly grace-filled people I've ever known. In a church 50 times larger than almost any other I've been to, I've been enveloped and welcomed and loved in ways far surpassing any other I've been to. At a church that IS the capitalist megachurch of my previous scorn, I've been forced to come face-to-face with the deepest parts of my own hypocrisy and ignorance. I have been pushed past my knowledge on all of the traditional strongholds of liberal ideology. I've been pushed to the question...What does it mean to accept Christ? Have I? Should I? Will I?

Yesterday, I realized that I'm afraid of being vulnerable. Not to God. That's nonsense. I've always been vulnerable to God, whether or not I've wanted to be. But to His church. I'm afraid to humble myself. To admit that I might have been wrong. To allow them to see me as imperfect (as though they haven't seen that already), as a person submitting to God, as a person with fears, and uncertainty, and a fallible intellect.

I realized this after I sent an email to someone, talking very vulnerably (perhaps somewhat unintentionally) about my confusion over all of this. He wrote back, saying that he would in fact pray for me, and that I should continue to pray as well. And in that act of intimacy--the trading of prayer--I recoiled. I thought, "Oh my gosh, he knows I'm vulnerable, that this is more than intellectual. He knows this is emotional." I became nervous. And suddenly knowing.

Part of the reason I have favored my liberal Christological ideas is because they require less of an emotional expenditure. And in talking about them, in worshiping with them, I had to show less of myself. But this new conception of "acceptance", this is full-on vulnerability. This is humility. This is admitting to what a jerk I've been, not only to God, who already knows, but to those around me.

There's no reason for me to believe that they won't show as much grace in these moments as they have in previous ones. I know that there will be no "I told you sos," no smirks, and likely no one will think I'm any dumber, or less...acceptable.

But still. To be that vulnerable. To show people how I actually feel about Christ, and not just to talk to them about my thoughts and ideas and intellectual positions on Christ. Now that's an act of faith.