Many frequently used aphorisms suggest we, as humans, are products. We are products of our environments, our families, and our experiences. Furthermore, some adopt the perspective of the formation of our selves through the fusion of nature and nurture. Considering these assumptions, it only makes sense that to understand ourselves we must, to a certain extent, understand those who came before us.
The race repeatedly demands us to think about things of this nature. To process. To come to deeper understanding of Jesus and our relationship with Him, and as a result, ourselves. Living in community with individuals who begin as strangers lends itself to contributing explanations about who you are and where you have been. In walking others through my testimony, I have come to realize that a significant element of who I am is, in fact, who my family is.
I was raised in a Christian home and into a family that not only deeply values, but also diligently studies, the Bible and its truth. My mom, a brilliant PhD neuropsychologist, graduated from Fuller Theological Seminary, and has expansive biblical knowledge. In addition, my grandpa’s qualifications as a biblical scholar are far too many to list as they would become the subject of the blog, yet among his accolades include a degree from Fuller as well, the publication of numerous articles in notable academic journals, and his inclusion in the translation team of 1&2 Corinthians for the NLT. My grandma’s faith is as unwavering as a sturdy brick home in a windstorm, and when she uses her voice for the glory of God there is typically not a dry eye or moved heart in the church. Needless to say, I grew up in a shadow of admiration for these “Christian giants” in my life.
In my testimony, they are always mentioned, as I have come to appreciate the legacy set before me. I did not choose the family I was placed in, and the Lord has certainly used their example and mentorship in a mighty way in my life. However, I have also come to admit that for many years, they were a spiritual and biblical crutch – particularly my mom. If I did not understand something in the Bible, I would ask my mom. If I needed prayer, I asked my grandma to pray. Now I am in no way advocating for faith in Christ being walked completely alone. I do not believe it is inherently lazy to ask biblical scholars questions or to ask prayer warriors for prayer. I do believe it became an issue when I was not investigating things for myself. I was not praying for myself. It was as if I was sitting in the backseat in the car of my family’s faith rather than stepping up to the wheel myself.
So, coming on the race, I made large strides towards making my faith my own. However, I still felt a certain residual dependence on my mom and my grandpa and their massive vault of biblical knowledge. And finally, to spring into the story, I saw some of that residue this weekend.
This past weekend, four of us decided to fly to Jerusalem, Israel. It was a cheap flight (relatively) and we rationed the benefits would significantly outweigh the cost. I was beyond excited to visit the Holy Land – the land I had read about in the Bible. I had begun to feel dry in my faith, had been feeling doubts in recent weeks, and was craving renewal in Jerusalem. What better than the place where Jesus himself walked to reignite a fire that I felt had been dwindling? Intermixed with the emotion of excitement was a destructive emotion of unworthiness. Thoughts of, “You aren’t good enough to go to Israel. You don’t know enough, you just aren’t worthy of an experience like that.”
The dueling feelings of excitement and unworthiness came burbling out before I had even fully understood them in a confusing moment on the first night we were in Jerusalem. We had just taken a tour around the city, and I had been overwhelmed with a massive amount of information and had been disappointed in myself that I was still not entirely sure of which hill was the Mt. of Olives, or could not recall who Absolom was when I heard his name on the tour, or had been, up until that point, been totally unaware that there was an Armenian Quarter in Jerusalem despite the fact that being Armenian is a significant part of my life. In a moment driven by tiredness from a night of no sleep, hanger (hunger + anger), and frustration after a moment of discord with the girls, I released, “I just wish I was here with my family.”
Immediately, I felt the familiar pang of remorse that notifies you when you’ve said something that might have potentially hurt those around you. But simultaneously, I knew it was true.
The following day was incredibly meaningful. I had the idea to quite literally follow in Christ’s footsteps on the night before he died leading up to his resurrection. I felt it would be a purposeful way of visiting the sites where scholars believe the events occurred, and it truly was beautiful. We followed along in the Gospels as we visited the Room of the Last Supper where he broke bread and drank wine with the disciples, the Garden of Gethsemane where he cried out for God to take the cup, the Holy Church of Sepulchre where he was crucified, and the Garden Tomb where he was resurrected. As the day progressed, I continued to process my statement the night before. It wasn’t until the following morning before we visited the Garden Tomb that it hit me.
Sipping coffee on a busy street in Jerusalem with Jaclyn and Meg, I first apologized to them for saying what I had said and then admitted that I had no doubt that there was a purpose for me coming with them instead of my family. The day prior had been full of questions – questions of, “is this where that happened,” and “where is it in the Bible where is says…” – questions that preceded discoveries in the Bible. Although I had the realization before of the utilization of my family as a spiritual crutch, this weekend was an awakening to the reality that my faith should be entirely my own. Feelings of incompetence and unworthiness aside, ultimately, my faith in Christ is my salvation, not my mom’s or my grandpa’s. That final morning in Jerusalem, the three of us girls read 1 Corinthians 15:12-17 where Paul discusses the utmost importance of the resurrection. Through reading this passage, I realized that the moments of doubt I had been experiencing and the cravings for more biblical knowledge and deeper intimacy were mine. Again, not my grandpa or mom’s. It is my own faith in the resurrection that secures my relationship with Him and mitigates any doubts, and my pursuit of more of Him through His word that will further understanding. My nature and nurture has, undoubtedly, given me a thirst for knowledge and truth, but the Lord highlighted through this trip the reality that my faith in Christ belongs to me. I’m eager for a new season of ownership.
