Why I’m a liberal Christian
31 Aug
I’m a liberal Christian. If you could hear me utter this in person you’d realize that it’s no boast, but nor is it an apology. I’d like to think of it as more of a confession. Something I glance side to side and lower my voice to say to a friend over coffee. “A what?” they ask, not because they can’t hear me, but because I’ve whispered it like a church mouse. “I’m more of a liberal Christian” I squeak, the corners of my mouth pulled back to my ears, eyes squinty, teeth clenched in a forced smile (this is something I call wince face. I make it when I’m confessing something. It’s not very attractive.) Now at this point one of two things happen, either they have no idea what I’m talking about so I have to clumsily explain it, or they know exactly what I’m talking about and they groan and wince right back at me: not with fear in their eyes, but with pity.
This post, dear reader, is the wince face coffee confession we’ve never had. I am compelled by the idea that I need to confess and that you need to understand.
I used to believe in a God I could talk to. He heard my prayers in the morning and my songs of praise in the evening. He was closer than the air I breathed. I had a passion for Him, an intimacy with Him. The most important thing in my life was to be in a relationship with Him. I also had a knack for being on stage, so from about the age of 14 I led people into his presence with singing and his courts with praise. The wonderful community church I grew up in placed a very high priority on our contemporary worship time. I played base guitar but, after our worship pastor left, got a promotion of sorts to being one of the lead singers. We raised our hands and swayed to the music, feeling the Spirit sweep through the room. It was emotional, we worshiped until we had tears in our eyes most days. It was exhilarating, those times in the Spirit – almost transcendent, like walking on the clouds. God whispered in my ears during those times – of that I was sure, well at least pretty sure. Sure enough to go over and give my friend an encouraging word from the Lord. Sure enough to tell the people over my microphone what I was discerning. It was usually about big things, like Revival. I was captured by the idea of Revival. I’d read about oversees missionaries who had something we didn’t. You see the wind of the Spirit blew in special ways in places like China. People were being saved by the thousands every day. The Spirit was certainly up to something. Soon it would be our turn. If we’d pray a little harder, believe a little longer, then our church, town, State, and eventually the country would be awash in revival. I was going to be a big part of it too. I was told countless times that I was going to be an important leader to “bring this generation back to God”. My generation was something that concerned me very deeply. I was sketchy on the details, but my generation basically meant all young people, both churched and unchurched, who didn’t have a relationship with God like I had. They needed this intimacy more than anything. It was the only way America would be brought back to God.
Revival, my generation, intercessory prayer, the Spirit, fire, miracles, undignified worship, abandonment, passion, and intimacy with God: these were the buzzwords of my young Christian evangelical faith. But I had a secret, a secret I’d scarcely admit to myself. For all of my talk, I was experiencing very little, if any, of these. I wasn’t convinced I had a secret relationship with the divine. I was plagued by doubt, but I blamed myself. I hadn’t fasted enough. I hadn’t spent enough time with the Lord – soaking in His presence like a warm shower. My personal worship times weren’t long enough. Clearly the problem couldn’t be with God, who like the popular song said, is a “God of Wonders beyond our galaxy – holy, holy”. No that couldn’t be it, it must be me, so I redoubled my efforts and left for Bible College.
My freshman year I prayed longer than I ever had. Not as long as those Christians in China who could pray all night, but a torture-some long time for me. I also played piano and worshiped longer than I ever had – just doing my best to soak in His presence. This would be the time of my break through – the semester when it all became real.
I remember lots of tears that semester. Not because God spoke to me, but because He didn’t. Were there times when I “felt His presence” or “experienced God”? Well, if you’d asked me then I’d have said, “yes” because it had to be a yes – I couldn’t bare the thought that this was all a sham – that I was alone – that I would never experience the intimacy with God that everyone else seemed to experience. I’m sure this makes me sound like a terribly emotional person and a downright fake, but you have to know it was deep waters for me. My faith was so central to who I was that, as I mentioned earlier, I would scarcely have admitted this to myself, much less my friends and family. It was a tough year. I still refer to it as my “forgotten year” because I went out of state for school so I was mostly alone outside of some extended family who lived in the area.
My forgotten year: the year where I left to find God and came back disappointed. So what did I do next? Well I took the obvious step and went into full time ministry as a youth pastor at a church called New Hope. “Why the hell did you do that” you ask me? Well, I still loved God, I wanted to serve Him, it was a great church and while at a deeper level the seeds of doubt had started to take root, at a conscious level I was still full steam ahead.
You see, the paragraphs above make everything more neat and tidy than it actually was. This is me looking back, analyzing myself in hindsight and doing my best to recall everything as I experienced it – an impossible task of course so cut me some slack (see my wince face coming back).
Being a leader in any church is an interesting phenomena because in many ways you believe for the people. You’re a sort of fill in for when their faith runs out. Throughout high school my doubt was held at bay by the leaders in my life – they were the pillars upon which my faith could stand secure – even when I was tossed about by tumultuous seas. The irony is that by going on staff I became one of these people for others and I got to know personally some of the folks that had served as pillars for me. You know what I found out? They’re astoundingly wonderful people, but they’re human beings through and through. They have their own struggles and worries. They don’t float on cloud 9 all day.
Full time ministry was a slow 4 year process of coming back to earth for me. While I still talked and walked a version of faith very similar to the one in my teen years, it became more mellow. Increasingly I wasn’t quite as fiery or sure of myself as I’d once been. I was immersed in the Bible many days a week preparing for sermons and there were parts that were quite different from the faith I’d grown up with, parts that made me uncomfortable because they didn’t fit with my version of faith.
I was also attending the Criswell College (a conservative Bible College in Dallas) at this time and I was being introduced to the intellectual side of our faith. I remember the most awkward day in school was the day we learned how the Canon (N.T. Scriptures) were put together. It was all so human sounding to me. I think it played into this skeptical side of me, the part that had been birthed in my first year of college. If I was so wrong about my highschool version of faith, If I’d fundamentally jacked up what it meant to know God, if i had misunderstood what it meant to follow Jesus back then – what was I wrong about now?
I was ripe for change.
It was around this time that I came across two books that changed my life forever. Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller and A New Kind of Christian by Brian McLaren. These books gave voice to my frustrations and fears. Each chapter was like a counseling session. I can remember sitting on my bed with tears running down my nose and dripping on those hallowed pages. But more than anything they gave me hope again. Hope that I could discover a different version of faith than the one I’d outgrown.
From Blue Like Jazz I began to learn to let go of the fear that had gripped my religious life – especially the fear of what other people thought of me. Here was a man who drank alcohol, said curse words, and went to a godless secular college just because all of his leaders said he shouldn’t. And when he got there, instead of telling the students what wicked sinners they were and how they deserved the hell they were going to get – he apologized to them. Literally setup a confessional booth where when sinners entered, ready to confess their own sins, the tables were turned and the priests apologized to the sinners. Apologized for the ways the church hasn’t been the best reflection of Jesus’ love through the years, apologized for the historical atrocities committed in the name of God, apologized for how Christians had treated them on campus: judging and rejecting them instead of loving them for the beautiful (albeit imperfect) people they were. It was glorious.
In the book A New Kind of Christian I found a mentor in Brian McLaren. Here was a man in his fifties, who was a former Charismatic (like me) and a former pastor (soon to be me) and he was asking questions about faith that I had always thought, but had never dared to ask because I was too scared. The most important thing he gave me was permission. Permission to ask fundamental questions about what it all means – and by it I mean the Christian faith as a whole. He was the first Christian writer I ever read who believed in Evolution. EVOLUTION! Are you kidding me? He questioned whether everyone from other religions would go to hell. He questioned the inerrancy of the Bible? He had friends who were Catholics and he actually spoke of them with respect (unlike every conservative Bible College professor I’ve ever had). He had friends who were theological liberals (far more so than he is) and he spoke with respect and appreciation for them to – even as he disagreed with them (again, unlike my professors). At the end of the day, Brian McLaren gave me permission to be intellectually honest and it was one of the most liberating experiences of my life. Once you see someone bravely saying, “You know what, I simply can’t conceive of a loving God torturing people for millions of years in hell. If that’s who God is I don’t want anything to do with Him.” That’s powerful.
These books were a conversion experience for me.
Now I know many of you are quite disappointed in me by now because I’ve articulated a journey that has me going from “I want to be a generation changer for God” to “EVOLUTION! Are you kidding me?”
I know what you’re thinking because I’ve been there before. I had the strong faith in God. I believed He whispered in my ear. If the Bible said it, it was good enough for me. I wanted to be a missionary for Christ’s sake (literally, I’m not using the Lord’s name in vain). Granted, I was about 16 years old, but still I’ve been on the side of the Truth.
You see, I know what you’re thinking and that tempts me. It temps me to give you a rational explanation for why I’m a liberal Christian. It temps me to delete the saga above and replace it with the post I started out writing which was titled, “Biblical inerrancy: 10 contradictions in the Bible that give fundamentalists fits”. I want to convert you to my way of thinking. This makes me feel better about myself. I’m much more happy when there are hundreds of little Brett Tilford’s running around with my version of faith. But it’s weakness on my part, and mostly pointless for me to try to convert my conservative evangelical friends – they’d never relent on a rational argument alone and hey, I don’t blame them, because neither would I.
This post is a confession of sorts so here goes nothing. I agree that in many ways (heck maybe most ways) my liberal version of Christianity isn’t as good as the conservative one I grew up with. That was a faith that people could really rally around and get pumped up about. It was the truth – delivered straight from the hand of God himself. I can’t compete with that. All I have is a weak faith that’s stumbling and bumbling along. It’s easy to judge and dismiss as just a bunch of liberal tripe. Fair enough. I agree it is tripe. I agree that in many ways I’m making this up as I go – granted I’m reading and doing my best to make wise decisions – but by asking some of the questions I’ve asked I realize that I’ve jettisoned myself from the authority of the church and the authority of the Bible. I think this is what frustrates people about me sometimes. I know they’re thinking, “Brett do you realize what you’ve done?! I can’t believe you’ve left the faith for this liberal tripe” and my answer is, yes. Yes, damn it. I know what I’ve done. I know much of my faith is Brett Tilford concocted tripe. But what I’m thinking in the back of my mind is this: the only thing worse than a stumbling bumbling – man trying his best to reach the divine – version of faith (aka liberal christianity) is a stumbling bumbling – man trying his best to reach the divine version of faith that doesn’t realize it’s stumbling and bumbling at all! (aka conservative evangelical christianity).
One idea I’m trying to communicate through all of this is that for me, the case is closed on the Protestant Evangelical Christianity of my youth. I’ll never return. As I stated above, this is for both intellectual and experiential reasons (this post focused on the experiential aspect but my previous and future posts will likely be intellectual so I’m trying to bring some balance).
So for now, although I realize it’s a weak faith and tentatively held, I’m content to attempt the construction of my liberal version of faith – knowing that for now – it’s all that stands between me and no Christianity at all.
Thank you, Brett, for having the temerity to speak about your journey and not letting the fear (that comes with sharing some of less traveled thoughts) of rejection or rebuke stop you!
I have plenty to say but do not currently have the time so I will wait until I do!
Wow Brett, your journey sounds similar to my journey (worship leading, leaving a career to attend Bible College and being a youth pastor).
When I went through my struggle I had so many questions and was too afraid to tell the church that their answer was not satisfactory. Now I’m considered a rebel for being so liberal and for questioning the teachings of the church.
I am, however, guilty of trying to convert the church to my way of thinking. It does make me feel better about myself I forget it is a weakness on my part. Thanks for reminding me.
Brett, this post was seriously refreshing to me. Probably it also means that you’re a heretic but still, the honesty was just lovely. I totally started a mental “slow clap” for you when I finished reading it.
Also, props to you for being so darn coherent! Not sure how you managed with a toddler and newborn at home. Good work.
Well you don’t know me in any way and yet I share your sentiments. I knew so much as a Conservative Evangelical Christian because it was all written down for me. There was an answer to everything in the Bible… until it wasn’t. I had no crisis of faith, no huge event that turned me away from the name-it-claim-it faith or denied me Jesus’ presence but the more I learned the less I knew… and the less I knew the more God was revealed to me… and the more God revealed to me the less I became the person who I had been directed to be by the what I call the “Christian School standards” or the Conservative Evangelical world I grew up in and am still so fond of and yet dearly despise.
I think God reaches each of us uniquely…comes to us in the space that was created for us, looks us in the eyes and promises us the greatest and most impossibly vague thing in the world “life.” I don’t know about others but my life is terribly complicated. My mind alone is always running, always questioning, always considering, always demanding something better out of life and I couldn’t possibly serve a God with anything less than the determination to CHANGE what was to meet and supply the needs of what is. I don’t know about you, but my God is bigger than what my human mind can confine God in… and that bible… is a book a man wrote and a combination of books men put together… so I expect to see flaws in it also. But the God I serve reaches into the flaws… into the pages of a terribly bigoted and egocentric and sexist book and helps us… or maybe just me… see beauty.
I agree with every word you say. Life can’t be about pretending to have it all together otherwise we will find what it is to feel hollow because we’ve painted our faces so thick with something that isn’t the core of who we are or who God is and we become only what we’ve created. Keep up the honesty, the world could use a little more of exploration and a little less of a 1950’s picture of a black and white “truth.”
Right there with you. Try The Old Testament Template by Landa Cope (definitely a manifesto for the modern church) and Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell. I too, was sick of a faith that was all talk and emotion but little action. It’s good to do soul-searching and better when you ask God to lead you in it. It’s definitely better to be bumbling and sincere than a very firm-looking hypocrite. Kudos
@Brandon: It’s my privilage sir. Thanks for reading.
@Nick: You’re not alone in that journey – keep up the courage.
@Rachelle: haha you’re comment made me laugh. Slow claps never get old.
@Ali: thanks for being a first time commenter! You’re money quote, “But the God I serve reaches into the flaws… into the pages of a terribly bigoted and egocentric and sexist book and helps us… or maybe just me… see beauty.” Loved it.
@Liz: I haven’t heard of the Old Testament Template but I’d love to check it out. I really enjoyed Velvet Elvis – Rob Bell has a gift for making complicated things beautiful.
Wow man, that was REALLY long! But, definitely worth the read. You pegged my life to a tee.. we could be shadows. I mean, I was 11 years old the first time they put me in the pulpit and I preached it just like I’d heard it.
Years later, I was a Pastor and I’d preach revivals from time to time. I was preaching a revival service one night and I can’t for the life of me remember what I was preaching about, but in the sermon I mentioned the King that Saul had spared and how Samuel the Prophet had taken a sword and hacked that man into pieces…of course, being a good Pentecostal, I treated it metaphorically… this is how ruthless we should be with sin in our lives…
Something happened at the moment those words left my mouth.. I am sure I had preached the same thing many many times. But at that moment, I knew I couldn’t believe in a God who would perpetrate and legitimize ethnic cleaning… that was in May 1995. I resigned my church that following December and walked away.
It’s taken me many years to find a notion of God that I can live with. And I know exactly what you are saying with between how easy it felt when all the answers were handed to you in a neat package, versus the doubt and questions that propels our spiritual journey today. But personally, I have a million times more peace! Thanks for writing, man. It really touched my heart!
Hey Chris,
Thanks for letting me know you enjoyed the post. I can resonate with your statement, “I have a million times more peace”. Being honest with myself – both intellectually and emotionally – has been a wonderful relief.
Cheers,
Brett
So… The hardest thing in the Bible to take as completely literal and believe as 100% truth is that God became man, was born of a virgin, died for the sins of the world, and rose from the dead. If a person believes that, it’s seems reasonable for that person to believe the Bible is true and without err in original text. If a person doesnt believe that, the rest of the Bible really doesn’t matter, does it?
Hey Carl, thanks for following up. I think you’re initial statement of faith is a good description of what many modern evangelicals believe, however it does have some important differences from the Nicene Creed of 325 affirmed by many churches down through history. Having said that, for the sake of argument, I’ll roll with the idea that it’s a pretty reasonable description of what many Christian’s believed, however in my opinion alot of that has changed with the rise of the historical/critical method in the 18th century. The following is an oversimplification, but I hope it sheds some light on what I mean.
Since the rise of the historical/critical method Christians have sort of splintered into two groups. First, there’s the more “liberal” Christian tradition that took the historical/critical method very seriously and tried to forge a faith in light of what was found there. Second, there’s the “conservative” tradition that has largely either refused to wrestle with what that method found, or disagreed with it’s conclusions. A good example of this is the Episcopal church where you have more liberal Episcopalians and then more conservative Episcopalians. They’re both part of the Episcopal tradition, but they’re coming from quite different perspectives because of their grappling with the historical/critical tradition.
Personally, I feel the tradition a person either grew up in, or currently embraces, will drastically color how “reasonable” they find your argument above and my description here.
P.S. I hope nothing above comes across as arrogant or snooty, that’s definitely not my heart. I’m just trying give some context to the conversation because without that I sound crazy to more conservative ears, and you sound crazy to more liberal ears! Also, I’m not kidding when I say the above is an oversimplification, but I hope it’s still helpful.
Haven’t been keeping up but I couldn’t help but be drawn to the little category link at the top of the page. And this gem popped up. Haven’t actually read through the post, but skimmed.
All of that lameness to say that I find this not only encouraging but exciting. And funny. See, I had still been regarding you as more of a “conservative” Christian–but I kept finding myself in agreement. Makes a lot more sense now. Indeed you’re probably more “liberal” than I am. And boy do I hate polarization and categories anyway. Oy.
I hope to find the time to read more thoroughly soon. In the meantime, a belated welcome to the, um, dark side.
One other thing: I’ve been sitting on a blog titled “Liberal, loves Jesus” for a while. Sigh, now it feels derivative and, yaknow, so last August. But maybe I can leverage that sense of lateness and inadequacy into motivation to finally getting around to finishing and posting it.
And my blog will likely be far less cogent than this. But that’s me, so I can be okay with that.
Hey Joel, yeah it’s been quite a journey these last few years. In retrospect this post was quite a cathartic experience for me – a coming out of sorts. I now fully identify with the theologically progressive stream of Christianity. It’s been a move that was long overdue. Of course, I’m still fleshing my theology out (as we all are) and have no illusions about having everything figured out. That being said, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders not having to pretend I’m on board with the version of faith I embraced at age 12.