People need hope and meaning (and so do I)

Recently I enjoyed a long conversation with a cousin and long-time friend of mine who I have been estranged from for the past five years (that’s another story). We spoke for hours about our dreams, our life choices, our careers and our faith journeys. While discussing faith, we talked about the new ways we have learned to read and approach the Bible and the different theological paths we have taken based on that approach. It was comforting to share our common questions, concerns, confusions and understandings about the Scriptures. At this point, my old friend warned me, “Now, have you thought about how your new approach to the Bible might affect those who are close to you?” I was stunned for a moment and then I nodded slowly. He continued, “I don’t know how far you’ve gone already but if you go further down this path things will probably start to make a lot more sense to you- and you may even feel closer to where Jesus was- but at the same time, the things you are learning and embracing probably won’t make much sense to a lot of your church members.” I sat silently in order to soak in what he said. I eventually replied, “Yeah, I’ve thought about it and the idea of being rejected because of my beliefs scares the hell out of me…But I feel like I’m on to something.” Seek and we shall find, right?

We then talked about those Christian pastors who pursue higher education and learn a lot of interesting and progressive theology but who decide to set aside those ideas when they are ministering to their congregations. Now keep in mind, I’m not seeking to be a pastor, but I knew what he was getting at. It’s the same question that my financial advisor (who practices Islam) brought to me a month ago when he heard I was attending seminary. His question was, “What are you going to do when your personal theology no longer matches up with the beliefs of the masses- especially your fellow church members?”

What do you do, indeed? I’ve heard it said before that we don’t have to think alike to love alike. While I think churches, families and communities should be united in love and respect for each other, I think it is unrealistic to expect any group of humans to be totally united in thought. Perhaps we can agree on some things we believe to be central, but not all things. Why? Because, as different as we humans are, I don’t think it is possible to get two people (if they are honest) to fully embrace the same opinions and thoughts on every spiritual, theological, and socio-political issue. I think when people have the expectation of coming to total agreement on every issue someone ends up silencing themselves or compromising what they believe to be true in order to maintain the appearance of unity.

I don’t want to be unloving towards others, but I also don’t want to compromise what I think is true. I also don’t think others need to compromise what they believe to be true in order to accommodate me.

But back to the question at hand: What do you do when your personal theology differs from the theology of your congregation? I recently posed this question to Marti Steussy, one of my seminary professors in whose counsel I trust. Her advice dealt with “respecting people's need for hope and meaning.” She sent me an e-mail that said, “When it comes to truth, human beings are more concerned about the kind of truth that will help them live with hope and a sense of meaning than they are about facts.” She said that I need to always “understand what's at stake” and to “invite people to talk honestly” about an issue where they aren’t just “rehearsing rationalizations.” She also warned me that if I am “going to challenge something” then I need to “do it for a constructive reason” and that I should “have something to offer that builds up.” She explained, “If you give people something that will increase their hope and sense of being able to do something meaningful in life, they can accept it in a way they just won't if they think all you are doing is tearing things down.” She also said that “if the Bible is involved, try to raise the questions out of the biblical material itself” and that it is often more effective to “appeal to common wisdom… that connects with most people” instead of using a lot of intellectual and theological terms that will only leave people looking “glassy-eyed.” She concluded with an allusion to 1 Corinthians 13 advising me to “Love folks and care about them.”

I thought Marti’s advice was helpful and faithful to the teachings and example of Jesus. People don’t need to worship false idols and faulty ideas, but they do need hope and meaning in order to function. I have to respect that. I must admit that I am uncomfortable with the idea of learning something I believe to be true and valuable and then being expected to dismiss it because the people around me don’t agree. However, I think there are times when it is wise to hold back certain information when it appears that it may threaten someone else’s most cherished ideas about God and the Bible. Perhaps in loving people we learn the wisdom that will help us to know how to use our knowledge and when it is most appropriate to share it.

Ultimately, I believe that there will come times when individuals will need to show integrity and hold firm to their personal convictions despite what the majority says. And I think that wisdom is required to discern such times. But I don’t think we have to totally agree with each other in order to love each other. The Gospels say that Jesus wanted his followers to be united in love, but I don’t recall Jesus ever commanding us to be uniform in our thought.

I admit that it is much easier to love and spend time with those we agree with theologically because it is difficult and uncomfortable to love and spend time with those who we disagree with on such deeply held beliefs. But Jesus didn’t give us an easy or convenient gospel, did he? Instead, he calls us to live in a way that will continually challenge and transform us. And sometimes that transformation is painful.