Testimony of Faith

From the age of three I attended a large Southern Baptist Church in a small town in South Carolina. Between Sunday school, children’s choir, mission study, bible drill, and youth fellowship, church was a second home. Each Sunday morning brought one of Pastor Bruce’s three-part sermons, after which at least one member of the congregation shared a tearful confession of salvation while the rest of us sang endless verses of Just As I Am. This supportive environment should have made it easy for me to accept Christianity and live a joyful, faithful life; instead, it made coming to terms with my faith a long but eventually fulfilling struggle.

Around age eleven I asked myself if church activities were the entire substance of Christianity. I threw myself into bible study with a new vigor and became frustrated with my lack of faith. At a revival service I reached an emotional climax that I knew was the touch of the Holy Spirit. The joy lasted a few days. I was baptized and continued church activities, but the struggle to maintain belief now brought on fresh feelings of guilt when I forgot my daily devotional or doubted God’s presence.

Just before my thirteenth birthday I moved to Maryland to live with my aunt and uncle. My aunt appalled me when at dinner one night she stated that she’d been raised a Catholic but now had no faith and made no pretense of being a Christian. I attended the local Baptist church, but grimaced at the uninspired sermons. When the youth group began singing "I just wanna be a sheep, baa" and dedicated itself to following biblically ordained gender roles that required women to submit to male leadership, I got out. My uncle, whose only comment on faith was that he considered it a very personal matter, offered to take me to the local Presbyterian church, where I felt more comfortable. My new surroundings at home and church gave me a new perspective on how to continue my spiritual journey.

When I was fourteen and applying for a three-week summer residential program at Duke University, my dissatisfaction with Christianity as I knew it and my curiosity about other traditions led me to choose a course on world religions. More than once I stayed awake after lights-out poring over the Bhagavad-Gita or Tao Te Ching. At the beginning of the class I described myself as "an inquisitive Christian;" by the end, I was so struck by the similarities between vastly different creeds that although I still called myself a Christian, I could not accept Jesus as the only way, truth, and life.

High school brought new challenges to my struggle. My fascination with science gave me a reverence for life, but also a need for evidence to support conclusions. Transcendentalism, my favorite topic in eleventh grade English class, impressed me with its logic by acknowledging the innate spirituality of man without making assertions that cannot be supported or that defy reason. I knew that education challenges faith once I realized that Emerson captivated me more than the Bible ever had.

I no longer call myself a Christian. I attend church because it allows me to serve my community, to sing in a choir, to be part of youth fellowship, and to eat homemade casseroles and desserts regularly. I hope to glean a meaningful tidbit from each sermon, and I’m usually disappointed, but I take comfort in the ritual. I accept moral teachings as my conscience dictates, and I don’t berate myself for lacking the humility to accept divine law that I don’t understand. This reversal has liberated me from the feelings of guilt that haunted me when I tried and failed to live as a faithful Christian.

The greatest cost of my journey has been its impact on two friendships. Two of my close friends live their lives with the purpose of serving Christ, while I live mine with the purpose of learning as much as I can and giving back to the world around me. Though we may share certain goals, both of them feel alienated by the fundamental difference of purpose. It hurts me that they can accept no other common bond upon which to continue our friendship, but I cannot lie to them or to myself.

By questioning what I’ve been taught and learning as much as I can about other views, I’ve given careful thought to what I believe and to how I want to lead my life. I’ve seen how faith can reward its followers and help them live moral lives, as well how it can lead to self-denial and intolerance. After a turbulent struggle, I’ve found that I can live a fulfilling and moral life without religious faith.

October, 2000