The Case For Christ

I met some friends for coffee yesterday morning. One of them, C., I've known for 26 years. He's seen me through the births of two of my children, the diagnoses of those children as autistic, the ends of both of my marriages, and various other minor tragedies. As a matter of fact, at one point at the end of my second marriage, C. showed up in the middle of the night and stayed with me while I literally howled and screamed in pain. In a life in which I've seen at very least my fair share of tragedy, that was the nadir for me. And C. was there, and he made sure that I didn't kill myself, made sure that I stayed safe. I really don't know if I'd be alive today if he hadn't shown up that night.

When my kids were young, C. used to come over to the house on Christmas Eve to play Santa Claus. Jimmy was into it, but Jacqueline did her I Deny Your Existence autistic moves on him. I have pictures of that somewhere. 

So you can probably understand that when C. says something, it's important to me, it affects me, it has an impact on me. And when we met for coffee yesterday, he saw the two bracelets I was wearing and asked me, "Why are you wearing those bracelets? You're the least religious person I know." It wasn't just a passing comment to me. And I stumbled in my reply, just saying something about how I'd bought both of them at St. Lucy's Parish in The Bronx when I took Jacqueline and Joe to New York a month ago. And then I let our conversation move on. But C.'s question was burning me, and even though I was feeling pretty nervous about coming back to the subject, as soon as there was a pause I said something like, "I don't know if I'm really a non-religious person." And then we talked for maybe twenty minutes     . . . maybe even more . . . about religion.

C. seemed angry, or like there was a river of anger boiling underneath of what he was saying. It was pretty clear that his Catholic upbringing had brought him more pain than anything, and that he really resented and maybe even hated "his" religion. And I could definitely sympathize with that. There are so many atrocities that have come into being either directly or indirectly because of religion. It's enough to make you hate all of it. It's enough to push you to the end of your wits.

But I guess that's the thing, isn't it? Because religion lives at your wit's end. I don't think that means that there is no intellectual component to it . . . not at all. If nothing else, I can say that there are quite a few people I know or know of who are smarter than I am and who have embraced Christianity. But it also means that no matter how far your intellect can take you, it can't take you all the way into the land of faith. Because faith is beyond the reach of pure reason. And I don't think that that is a bad thing. 

Hmmm. I actually sat down to write about the movie The Case For Christ, which I've just finished watching. I'd read the book awhile back and thought that it was pretty good. It certainly gave me some grist for the thinking mill, anyway. And the movie was good, too, and took me back to the same big questions that the book has raised up for me.

To wit, Do I believe that Jesus of Nazareth was a real person?

Do I believe that this Jesus died and then rose from the dead?

And if so, how can you refuse to embrace Christianity?

Well, the first question seems pretty easy to me: yes. I see no reason not to believe in the historical truth of the person known as Jesus of Nazareth. And I see (with some bolstering from Lee Strobel) that there is at least as much evidence of this person's historical existence as there is for many other things that are commonly accepted as true.

The second question gets pretty tricky. My upbringing, the theology classes I've attended, many of the religious books I've read (including the aforementioned The Case For Christ) all say that Jesus did rise from the dead, and it is not difficult for me to accept that this is true.

So why do I keep stumbling on the last part of this equation? The part that should be the easy part? 

I don't know. But I admit--with some chagrin--that that is, indeed, where I keep pulling up short. And part of me fears that I pull up short here for precisely the same reasons that my friend C. is so angry at Catholicism: because I see so many stupid and cruel practicing Christians. So many people not only willing to judge others, but to abuse and condemn others. But I know it's not logical to reject Christianity because of what I perceive to be failures on the part of people who claim to be its adherents.

And there I am. Circling around and around.