Why I’m Not a Christian

Before I start, I’d like to say I didn’t intend to write a blog post tonight. And as soon as I began writing, I definitely didn’t intend to publish it. Halfway through, my FILDI got the better of me. I don’t intend to use this blog as a journal, but a little bit of introspection never hurt anyone, right? Here’s hoping. 

As I was driving home tonight from the my first ultimate frisbee summer league game, I was struck by a thought that hasn’t entered my mind in quite some time. 

I started thinking about God.

Prior to the game, a nasty storm had blown through my hometown, bringing a freezing wind and biting rain with it. The relief as it passed before the start of the game was palpable, and we played for a solid two hours under a brilliant and breezeless sky. I’m not sure what it is about storms that make me giddy, but I love being inside during a downpour and hearing the cannonfire of thunder. Something about it sends a shiver up my spine. I will say that the aftermath of a storm has some endearing traits of its own; again, it’s nothing in particular that I can put my finger on, just a sense of calm contentment after the buzz of the storm has faded away. 

So it was like this, driving home from the fields. The sun had begun its descent over the far western end of the valley, un-obscured by clouds. My phone shuffled a song (“Taro” by alt-j), that in retrospect was perfect for the moment. You know the songs I’m talking about; with a conscious of their own, they enter your life at the most opportune times, encompassing the entirety of what you’re thinking and feeling with a beauty and elegance that escapes rational description. With its soft guitar lead and ringing bells, the song felt positively electric, as if a bit of stormy residue had rubbed off on my radio speakers. I begin to envision myself on the highway, pushing 80, driving to nowhere in particular with the sun hanging low on the horizon and my lungs full of new and different air. So it surprised me when I suddenly began to think about God. 

It was nothing in particular about God; this was no Pauline conversion experience. But I thought about Him, really contemplated, for the first time in a long time. I had stopped associating myself with Christianity, in fact, had refrained from identifying myself as a Christian several months prior. The reasons are muddled and have a long back story, but in a word I simply was tired of being a hypocrite. If I can’t say “I love Jesus,” truly and genuinely, then why am I calling myself a Christian? In an instant, twenty years of life seemed suddenly moot. I don’t consider myself an atheist by any means, but when I chose to stop identifying myself as such, I experienced an incredible rush of freedom. It wasn’t a freedom to rampage through life, needlessly indulging. No, this was a comforting freedom, a freedom from guilt. Some sort of weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and the irony of the Christian metaphor in this situation wasn’t lost on me. I had always been told Jesus was the one to lift the weight, take the burden. So in addition to being freeing, this decision was also pervasively, indelibly weird. 

From that point forward, I put my spiritual/religious life on the backburner. I had discussions with Christian friends and non-Christian friends and sort-of-Christian friends, and explained what I’ve just explained to you now. Despite these conversations, I never really thought about God from that point forward. Acknowledged points of view, yes. Talked about my feelings in-depth, yes. Tried out life without God for the first time ever, yes. But I never really asked myself what I thought. 

Tonight, driving home, I thought about God. My struggle was never an existential one; I think radical atheists are as ridiculous as radical evangelicals. Part of me knows there is some sort of middle ground somewhere, but I don’t really know what it looks like, or if I want to take part in it. I thought about if God uses people in other people’s lives, if God has used me in other’s lives. I thought about if I had ever really believed at all, or if my childhood was one giant string of confusion and misinformation. I thought about what I have come to believe, morally, and if I could still be a Christian while believing those things. I thought that I didn’t really like church all that much, but a relationship sounded nice. 

Throughout all of this, the thought that invaded my mind most pervasively was one of thankfulness. Thankfulness for where I live, the incredible people I’ve had the pleasure of being able to call my friends, the fact that I can catch and throw a frisbee, or play guitar, or write a blog post. As an experience, these thoughts were sudden and completely unexpected. I did a double-take; I felt, for a moment, like I should pray and thank God for these things, a holdover from a habit I had conducted for twenty years. I wasn’t sure how to proceed, except to take each thought in stride and give it equal space on the debate floor of my mind. 

When I got home, I got in the shower and looked at the corner of my bathroom, where the ceiling and the wall connect. The corner is nothing special, just an intersection of plain white wall, but I continued to think about God as the hot water poured over me. 

I had no big revelations, no “Ah ha!” moments. I didn’t feel an urge to crack open the ol’ Bible or kneel down and pray. I felt thankful, and content with how fortunate my life has been. I know there is something in that statement somewhere that probably deserves unpacking, and maybe if I’m not so apathetic I’ll get around to it one day.

But I think I’ve had about enough thinking about God for today. Why am I not a Christian? 

I couldn’t tell you.