Growing up, I never really had many close friends who were Christians.
This probably stems from my middle school years of being in a youth
group where I felt judged beyond reason because I went to a private
school 45 minutes from my hometown rather than the local public
school. But even in high school and college, I never really felt like
I fit the mold in the Christian organizations. The only place where I
really felt like my faith and I existed judgment-free was at Summer’s
Best Two Weeks (the greatest summer camp IN THE WORLD), where I was a
camper for six summers and a counselor for three. The best part of
those nine years was the fact that image didn’t matter, thanks to the
mandated wardrobe of t-shirts and gym shorts, and showers that were
capped at three minutes.
Think for a second about a country club membership. To belong to one
of these clubs, there is a membership fee in addition to a dress
code. You have to follow the rules of membership, and these
memberships sometimes exclude ethnic minorities, members of certain
religious communities, or women. People who feel that they don’t quite
measure up in socioeconomic status may feel looked down on, or that
they somehow have to prove themselves worthwhile members.
In reality, this isn’t too far off from what many churches are like.
Obviously, this analogy is a generalization, and not necessarily
applicable to all country clubs or churches, but consider this for a
moment: How many times have you been with other Christians and felt
like “less” of a believer because you maybe had one too many drinks at
your cousin’s wedding? What are your first thoughts about the new
believer who has just admitted to sleeping with his or her last
significant other? Don’t even get me started on Christians and
politics.
We’re engaged in an internal holier-than-thou war with each other. And it’s ridiculous.
When we’re with other Christians, we’re generally operating under the
assumption that they are Perfect Model Christians with no black marks
on their record who are analyzing our slightest nostril flare for
flaws. At the same time, we often hold other Christians to that same
standard of perfection, so when we discover a transgression, we
mentally pounce on it and affirm that we are better Christians than
they are. Seriously? Nobody’s perfect. Everybody sins. Everybody
screws up. That’s pretty much the sole reason Jesus was sent in the
first place.
Disclaimer: I’m totally guilty of this mentality. I’m also not condoning drinking to the point of incoherence or
activities that may or may not result in childbirth. (Kids, don’t do
drugs.) But with non-Christians, I don’t feel like I have that
expectation to live up to. I don’t have to pretend to be perfect. I
can be who I am. I can be honest without feeling judged or pressured.
My best guy friend is an atheist. He knows I believe Jesus died for me, and that I
use his teachings and values to guide my life. But he knows that I
screw up, and, most importantly, he doesn’t hold it against me. It’s
important to have someone to hold you accountable for your actions, but
it would be much nicer if I didn’t feel like that person was internally
rolling their eyes in exasperation at my imperfections.
The church is supposed to be a community of believers. The entire
purpose of this community is to lift each other up and encourage one
another. But when non-believers are more forgiving than Christians,
whose entire doctrine is based on the concept of forgiveness and
redemption, something is wrong.
Can’t we all just fess up to each other that we’re flawed? After all,
the first step to redemption is admitting you need to be redeemed.
