I'm THAT Jorge...

I’ve re-written this entry so many times.

The most difficult thing to deal with as a skeptic is the people around me. More pointedly, their perception of me. Whether they are skeptics themselves or not, I am regularly required to provide an explanation for my current position and even more consistently, I am given an unwarranted rebuttal. Of course, it’s the people within the faith—namely, the ones who knew me long before I had a skeptic heart—that I have to answer to the most.

In their eyes, what I have done is a travesty. An egregious offense. Because everyone has their doubts. But few of them ever let those doubts take them as far away from faith as I have. Inevitably, assumptions begin to abound over why I have chosen unbelief.

As a result, my skepticism is frequently misunderstood as…

• Anger: As if my absence from church and Christian living is simply some sort of grudge that I hold on to from a bad experience I had four years ago. There was a time when I was angry at people, but it was very short-lived. It didn’t take long for me to realize how immature I was to leave the faith for personal reasons. If my skepticism is not perceived as anger, then sometimes it is seen as…
• Delusional Enlightenment: As if I think I am so much smarter than all of the people who believe in God without question. The truth is, no matter how deep I can take my theological endeavors, the things that always give me the most issue are the simple matters. The basic stuff. I don’t take pride in my doubts. I just can’t sweep them under the rug. So if not anger, not delusion, then maybe…
• Defiance: As if I’m simply shaking my fist at God and daring him to prove himself to me. It’s true that I have asked him for proof, but it’s my motives that have been misunderstood. And if it’s none of these, then it’s…
• Laziness: There’s a constantly-expanding mindset within the church that believes people walk away from God simply because morality is exhausting. But I have loved the challenge of trying to live to a higher standard. In fact, I still believe that I try to live to a higher standard now. Trust me, I didn’t become a skeptic so that I could get a tattoo and drink without losing any sleep.

The best thing about my life as a Christian was that, for 21 years, I had a place to go where my belief-system cultivated friendship and community. We loved each other because we loved God and because we loved worship. Man, did I love to worship. Even to this day, my body tingles when I hear CFNI’s Revelation Song playing. In fact, there’s one worship leader who still moves me literally every time she sings. So much so, that when she begins leading people in song, I ache for belief just so that I can worship with her. Of course, the same thing happens when I listen to Corinne Bailey Rae, Damien Rice, J Tillman, etc.

There were other things that I liked. There was something truly wonderful in believing that I could pray pain and sickness away. I also loved the popular ‘freedom’ analogy; that we had been targeted from birth, wrapped in chains of bondage, but set free by the power and the grace of God. I did my part to be a spiritual warrior, fully embracing the idea that we were in constant warfare over the souls of unbelievers. But in the end, there was nothing I loved more than the worship and the community of Christianity.

I loved Christianity.

I miss Christianity.

I hate that I can’t get it back.

I don’t begrudge the believer for their unshakable acceptance of faith. I envy them for it. I look back and remember when my faith was also unshakable and I wonder how I ever let myself break. But the moment I even begin to dismiss my doubts, I feel even more obligated to apologize to God. It feels like such a disservice to him for me to move on, to shrug off my skepticism just to avoid the potential torture of hell. I don’t feel enlightened at all. I feel so dissatisfied with my options.

A friend of mine—one of the best I’ve ever had—took the pulpit a month ago and preached a message to thousands of people. But it was actually a message written directly to me. He had been inspired to respond to me after I wrote this blog on April 24. In fact, he essentially kicked things off by reading a significant portion (I’d estimate around 25%) of it to the entire congregation. I knew this was going to happen, because he had asked my permission to read the blog to the church in advance. I was so moved by the fact that he was this concerned for my salvation that I made certain I was there to hear him share it in person. It was a good message. And it was delivered with love and compassion, which was certainly the best approach to take if there was any hope for a favorable result. The purpose of the message was clear. It was meant to finish me off…in a good way. As he wrapped up his sermon, he gave a heartfelt plea for me (and every other skeptic in the room) to come back to that place that I had once been. I wanted to respond. But I couldn’t. He had misunderstood my skepticism.

He told me that I was running against the wind; that I was going against my natural inclination. And if we were speaking to my desires, he was absolutely correct. There was (is) nothing more appealing to me than the ability to believe in God once again. But THAT God, the one I grew up with, is completely inexplicable to me. I can’t wrap my mind around the motives of creating something that you KNOW you are going to lose. I can’t imagine hell as a permanent reality, because then what was the point? Just to prove you had the power to do it? I don’t understand where any kind of love comes in to that picture. I don’t get the illusion of this great sacrifice that Jesus made, either. If I’m the son of God, I know that if I endure a day’s worth of the most unbelievable pain and torture, I can save the world and then spend the rest of eternity kickin’ it with my dad up in heaven. Ok, well…I wouldn’t like it, but I’d do it. Because I’m not REALLY sacrificing anything. So to offer my devotion to something that just doesn’t make sense to me………THAT would be running against the wind.

My friend told me I was failing the test of two. He said great moments in history took place because of someone who was willing to make a difficult decision. And you know what? I couldn’t argue with this one. I can’t be content with a decision of indecision. I have to choose a side because it really is either ‘A’ or ‘B’. Either there is a God (A), or there isn’t (B). But the thing for me is, if there is a God, it’s not the one that is being worshiped in the church. At least, that’s the way I see it right now. So where does that leave me? Do I want option ‘A1’ (the God I’m given) or option ‘A2’ (the God that makes more sense)? I don’t know. Granted, option ‘B’ doesn’t really carry a lot of appeal to me either. I can’t stay in the middle. But I am in the middle right now, because I don’t like either one of my options. So I can concede his point in this matter. I need to choose. And I will, someday.

But then came the third point. This was the one that really got to me. He told me I had misunderstood the nature of God. “Doubters always struggle with God’s refusal to show them a sign. But the sign of God’s existence is love.” That was what he said. And this, he said, was why I perceived no answer from God when I challenged him to prove himself to me.

*sigh*

It’s true. Love is the best thing that Christians have going for them, when they do it right. It doesn’t happen often, but when you find the ones that love right, it is hard to not like them. They make it so appealing. But just like morality does not exclusively belong to religion, neither does love. Love, at best, convinces me that there MUST be something greater than me. It doesn’t tell me what it is.

But that’s not what got to me.

I felt like he had just compared me to the criminal on the cross. You know, not the good one who stood up for Jesus and asked him to reserve a spot in the 11th hour. The other one, who with the little strength he had left, challenged Jesus to come down from that cross if he really was the son of God. It stung because I have been doubting for years. I only demanded proof when I felt I had nowhere else to look.

So many people ask God to prove himself to them just so that they can say they ‘gave him a fair shot’ and he failed. They want to be able to mock him and his followers. They want inaction to serve as proof of non-existence. But these are not my motives. I have tried, desperately even, to believe without seeing. I have tried to find my faith once again, even without proof. Christianity is what I want. But my doubt is insurmountable. I don’t because I can’t. And so I challenge God because I don’t understand why he does not see my struggle and my longing, and offer something to me.

The fact that I have not received an answer has not suddenly convinced me that he is an imaginary being. The only thing that his inaction has affirmed in me is that I STILL can neither believe in his existence, nor refute it.

I’m tired of having to defend my neutrality. I am not the one who is dissatisfied with my quest, it is the people around me who need my choice. People need me to make a decision so that they can have something concrete to either oppose or affirm. It’s true that there is a side. One must be right. But I value the journey. I need this space between, because it is the optimal place to learn and to grow and to make an educated decision.

Another friend of mine, one who has quite frankly been my saving grace through the height of this truly tumultuous period of my life, classified my situation better than I have ever been able to.

I think the real dilemma you are facing is not whether or not to choose to believe. I think your personal dilemma is figuring out why you feel compelled to make a choice and figuring out who is truly compelling you. Then finally, figuring out how to make peace with what you conclude.

I always loved to write. With that love, I always carried a dream to someday publish a book.

Everything I write these days revolves around my journey from being an innocent believer to becoming a shamed exile; an unwilling agnostic. I always assumed that putting my struggles down on paper would help me to reach that coveted “end”. The first 15 chapters would be a recap of my life’s experiences and how they created the path to where I am now. But chapter 16……oh, that chapter 16 was going to be something special. Perhaps I was going to call it, “The Decision” (Thanks for ruining that, Lebron.) This chapter was not going to be a recap, but instead an official and triumphant announcement of the choice I had finally made.

I still carry this dream to someday be published. Over the last five or six years, I’ve begun and semi-completed a number of books. But I’ve never liked any of them, and always for the same reason:

None of them have a Chapter 16.