
have a question. Is it possible, sometimes, that we as Christians might make an idol out of always having answers?
Zondervan recently sent me a review copy of
Rachel Held Evans' new book,
Evolving in Monkey Town, where the tagline reads,
How a girl who knew all the answers learned to ask the questions. Yet "knowing the answers" is a mark of Christian discipleship and maturity...right?
This spiritual memoir from a recovering fundamentalist opens with a frank admission of bias. "I'm judgmental of people I think are judgmental," writes Evans. "I've been hurt by Christians." Then she adds, "As a Christian, I've been hurtful."
This honest reflection sets the tone for the rest of her book, which I found refreshing, unnerving ~ and, in the spirit of honesty, even a little uncomfortable at times. But that's okay. God is bigger than our questions ~ both unasked and unanswered ~ and thankfully, He is even bigger than our answered ones. This is comforting because sometimes the answers hurt.
Using the highly controversial (at least to most evangelical Christians) theory of evolution, Evans draws parallels to her own journey of faith. "Spiritual evolution explains why Christianity has thrived while other ancient religions have perished," she says, later adding, "I'm an evolutionist because I believe that the best way to reclaim the gospel in times of change is not to cling more tightly to our convictions but to hold them with an open hand."
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| Rachel Held Evans |
Always ready, this pastor's daughter ~ with a positively ingenious childhood plan to witness to her Mormon neighbors ~ grew up with answers that outnumbered questions she didn't even know to ask. She writes, "So ready with the answers, we didn't know what the questions were anymore. So prepared to defend the faith, we missed the thrill of discovering it for ourselves. So convinced we had God right, it never occurred to us that we might be wrong. In short, we never learned to doubt."
In fact, we're afraid of doubt. We pray against it. We writhe thinking of Doubting Thomas and say we would never be him, pressing away insecurities, clamping a hand over our mouths and hanging on to the answers that make us feel safe. Somehow we've equated 'not having an answer' with being a poor witness or lacking in faith.
We fear not having faith. And sometimes this makes us stop asking hard questions.
Evans, a self-proclaimed skeptic, muses, "On the one hand, I love what Jesus said about forgiveness and enemy love. On the other, I am horrified at the acts of genocide committed by Joshua in the Old Testament, acts seemingly condoned, even ordered by God...it baffles me that the same God who cast the lepers out of Israel sent His Son to minister among them. The same God who ordered the death of every man, woman, and child in Canaan welcomed little children into His arms."
Doubt is a difficult animal to master because it requires that we learn the difference between doubting God and doubting what we believe about God.—Rachel Held Evans, Evolving in Monkey Town.
Although this book will be a gutsy, thought-provoking addition to the shelves of anyone interested in matters of faith, some of my readers will feel alarm over Rachel Held Evans admitting she doesn't know the answers to many questions regarding morality, current events, the Bible, and other religions. Furthermore, "I don't know how God will ultimately judge between good and evil," she says. "I don't know which church tradition best represents truth. I don't know the degree to which God is present in religious systems, or who goes to heaven and who goes to hell." Her lack of certainty indicates to many black-and-white thinkers a kind of watered-down faith, a suggestion of tolerance that invites compromise to the church.
But others will find relief.
Many have spent their entire lives being told what to believe and how to believe it, what the answers are and what questions are appropriate. Evans strips away evangelical extras and reveals the foundation: Jesus. The cornerstone, the Rock. I think I blushed on her behalf a few times, but it's good to challenge all we've held dear, testing them and holding fast the good. And her courage to say "I don't know" in response to difficult situations is a refreshing surprise, for living in a world that puts stock in having all the right answers takes the journey away from us and molds God into a neat, predictable image. Admitting "I don't know" puts mystery back into Him and hands Him ~ not answers ~ out to others.
Rachel may not know all the answers, but she knows the One Who does. Her life echoes my own prayer of faith to God:
I'm willing not to know, but to rest in knowing You.
And here, there is peace.