24 April 2011: The night I decided not to be a Christian anymore - Part 1

As you can see from a few of my preceding posts, Equip was a really profound time. So how was it that I found myself on the last night, seriously contemplating giving up my walk with Jesus Christ? This is the story. [please read post 1 and 2.]

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As Andrew's talks on Exodus continued, I started re-realizing the awesomeness, the intenseness, the power, the majesty of the Lord God Almighty. I had forgotten this in the last few months (if I'm honest, it's probably more like last year, or last two years). I'd fallen into the trap of making my God tiny, small enough to do my bidding when I wanted to, small enough to do my plans. But as Andrew worked clearly and faithfully through God's relationship with Exodus, my eyes were re-opened. I came to see that there was so much I'd been failing in, and little by little, I became more and more shaken at how I'd drifted away in pursuing a relationship with God.

Two particular points of his talks stand out:

The first, when we reached the Ten Commandments.
Andrew recontextualized these commandments within the framework of a typical human relationship. It's a given that when you enter into relationship with someone, you both spend time figuring out what you both do and do not like (if you don't tell each other directly from the start). For God, it's simple: You don't cheat on me with others, and you don't mess around with my name. Further, with commandments like 'do not murder', God's also saying, Don't mess around with those I have created. With these ten black and white commandments placed in such an everyday, familiar relational context, no longer did they seem unreasonable, illogical, or perplexing, but rather, obvious, a natural consequence, a perfectly reasonable expectation stemming from the objectives of a relationship.

The second, when we reached the part about the golden calf.
Andrew used the example of human relationships again to articulate how ridiculous it is when WE tell God what He is like, instead of letting Him tell us what He is like. Imagine a friend tells you that he only likes milk stout, not beer, not wine, not coffee. Just milk stout. How would he feel if you kept on buying him everything else except for milk stout? And you kept on telling him it was because he liked it? He'd be mad, right? Then why on earth did the Israelites think that God would be happy with their way of worshipping him (the golden calf), when He'd told them how, when, what, how He preferred??? Moreover, as I sat there listening to Andrew, I suddenly realized I'd made a golden calf out of God. I'd told Him to be satisfied with whatever scraps I had left of my heart and time.

As someone who regards her friendships and relationships highly, these two illustrations made a huge impact on me. And so, as I stood up with the others, ready to sing in response to Andrew's talk on the golden calf, I didn't start singing when everyone else did. Instead, I took a long hard internal look at my progress over the last few years. And, I realized that I wasn't going to make it. If I'm honest, I'm already living less convictedly, less passionately, than I was when I first became a Christian. I thought I could see the future, and my future revealed that I am going to be one of those people who twenty years from now will no longer be a Christian - someone who quietly, ever so quietly, just managed to drift off and slip away. Being a Christian was hard, was becoming harder the older I became, and perhaps, was too hard.

Moreover, it wasn't only myself I was worried about for once. Suddenly, considering things from God's side, I came to understand the ugliness of my disobedient sinfulness, of my half-hearted service and love, as well as my adultery in running after things of this world, and my increasing hesitation about letting others know that I am a Christian. What a pathetic life I've been offering to a most amazing King. I felt sickened to the core, as I imagined how it must feel if I loved someone so much to send my son to die for them, only to have them spit in my face. Shame. Guilt. Sorrow. My fault. All, my fault. And I 'm tired of hurting God with my idolatry.

In a spate of seeming logic, two thoughts came together: 1. I hate adultery. I have seen the effects it has on individuals and families, and I made a promise to myself I would never be unfaithful. 2. I am an all-or-nothing person. Therefore, the solution appeared so simple: if I can't guarantee myself that I won't hurt God with my adultery (and I will, for I am sinful and weak every single day), then I must leave God now before I hurt Him anymore. So this is it - it was time for the goodbye. Rather than wasting my time and His, I decided it was time to walk away.

It sounds like foolishness, like madness, like a rash of insanity. But as I stood there, I convinced myself that this was the only honourable thing to do. And as the song ended and the session ended, I walked out of the hall, almost in tears. This was it - my last night ever as a Christian.