I celebrated a birthday yesterday, and it has me a bit nostalgic, so if you'll indulge an older guy on a bit of a soapbox (well, I guess it's my blog, right?), let's head back in time a bit.
When I was in fourth grade, I walked to the front of a Nicky Cruz rally and accepted Jesus. Nicky was a former leader of the Mau Maus, a hard-charging, violent street gang in NYC. He was pursued by a preacher named David Wilkerson who told him about Jesus. Long story short, after many conversations, Nicky realizes who this Jesus is and how He could impact his life, so he dedicates his life to pursue Him.
From the stage, this former gang leader shared his story of violence, fights, adversaries, overcoming obstacles and redemption. This is a story which a young guy would clearly find compelling. So after speaking for a while, Nicky asked if anyone wanted to walk to the front and join him on a faith journey. And, I got out of my chair and said, "I'm in."
That was a lifetime ago.
To bring the past 40-plus years to a quick sentence or two: I'd spent a lot of time in church youth groups, sowing my oats both inside and outside the church walls, I became an adult, a professional, a husband, a father, tried and failed at much, and done some good too I hope. All the while realizing that there is so much to life. And much more to come. Particularly when it comes to faith. The more time I spend with my feet on the planet, the more I continue to learn that faith is an organic experience. It is indeed mysterious. A million-fold more mysterious than the allure of Cruz's story that put me to my feet and drew me toward Jesus. Jesus is a mysterious person. God is a mysterious Father. And His Spirit breathes mystery into His children.
This mystery has been lost.
I believe many Christians have lost sight of mystery. And many churches and Christian institutions have as well. Perhaps that's a driving force for many mysteryless Christians—their reliance on the church and organizations to provide it for them—but that's another story I touched on in another blogpost. I digress.
Through the years I have grown to see this enigmatic faith become a system of checks and balances—things to do and not do. I've prescribed it within my own life, observed its execution in the lives of others, and seen it saturated within Christian content. There are countless books, classes, sermons, that tell his how we become a "better" Christian Dad/Mom/Professional/Fillintheblank. Or a not-so-favorite of mine, how to "disciple" other people (as though another person is a class project). Don't get me wrong; there is a lot of great, wonderfully-hearted, mystery-grasping people out there who share a faith that is vivid and alive. But if I take a broad brush look at this faith, it has become politicized, americanized, strategized, and perhaps worst—it has become defined.
We have become Professors.
Professors who argue a lot. Yet, on many occasions, Jesus talks about how this is not what it's like to follow Him. He talks about hiding things from the wise. He says that we should be like kids to even begin to understand what this Christian faith is like or who God is. I don't think he means like a child tethered to a desk, but rather a child flying a kite—wondering about the wind and what it looks like from way up there. And Jesus also hung out, and ate and drank with normal people. Not because he had a recruitment plan, but because he loved them. And I imagine He found them a lot more interesting than those professorial church-types.
Now please don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that theological study, debate, or learning and training is a bad thing. But when we lose the childlike qualities, we lose so much more. When faith becomes a puzzle that we are resolving, I think we miss the mark.
Faith is a mystery, not a puzzle.
While a puzzle can be fun, when it comes to faith, we've got to go back to the fear and excitement of childhood continually. We've got to stay out of the "classroom" and play in the field. Hiding and seeking. Wandering and getting lost. Running and skinning our knees. Holding our arms out with no hands on grips, as our balance steers our bike. And flying our kites in the wind.
Note to self, Rick. Read this a year from now and see how you're doing.