My Daughter Says I’m Not A Real Christian

I say actions speak louder than words.

My daughter told my wife and me that we’re not real Christians. Her justification for this is that we never demonstrate our faith in an outward fashion. In pre-COVID times, my wife regularly attended church, but I sometimes slept in on Sunday morning. My daughter attends Bible study on Wednesday nights and occasionally, Saturday mornings. For us, Wednesday night follows a long Wednesday workday.

We don’t have religious artifacts and faith wall art all over the house. She has a lot of faith wall art. We used to have a cross on the wall, but my wife took it down. It’s now on the chest of drawers next to grandma’s urn.

I feel comfortable thinking about my faith and relationship with God and Jesus. Sometimes I reflect upon my religious upbringing and my journey in finding myself.

Faith was always present in my family in subtle soft-spoken tones. Actions spoke louder than words. Matthew 7:12 says, “Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets.” (King James Version, BibleGateway.com) is often translated to treat others the way you wish to be treated. That was a relentless theme in my home.

As far as attending church, our family would participate in spurts of months or years. I recall going to church with my mother and grandparents. We’d participate for months, and then we’d not participate. When I was ten years old, my father had a heart attack. He survived. After his heart attack, we went to church much more often. The reason could have been his near-death experience, or Dad no longer worked Sunday mornings. Sunday work was in addition to Monday through Saturday. A heart attack can put life-work balance into introspection. It may have also been due to my grandparents’ advanced aging. For whatever reason, Sunday morning church followed by a family Sunday lunch became our norm and remained for many years.

Our renewed church experience brought me closer to the church community. I began participating in Sunday school and became an acolyte. Somewhere between ages 13 to 16, I completed confirmation as a full member of the Episcopal church.

In college, I became a bit of a backslider. Sleeping in on Sunday morning became the norm. However, I expanded my spiritual interests. I hung out with the members of the Baptist Student Union, aka Jesus Freaks. I attended some meetings of the Bahia group on campus. I think I was attracted to their belief in the oneness of humanity.

My first job out of college was in a rural town with a population of 2500. Country folks are generally friendly and often invite newcomers to their church. My visit to the Baptist church was interesting. There were traditional protestant hymns, many of which I recognized from my hometown church. The sermon seemed to be much about fire and brimstone and how you’ll go to Hell if you don’t do what Jesus wants you to do. It was pretty different from the teachings I recall from my church. I was taught that God is a loving, forgiving parent that sent Jesus to show us how to love and care for one another.

It wasn’t the sermon that convinced me the First Baptist Church wasn’t for me. The Sunday school teacher said the Catholic Pope was an incarnation of the Devil. Where is Jesus’s teaching of forgiveness and tolerance in that?

The Methodists also invited me. The reverend’s sermon was much more positive. He would show us how the lesson of the day applied to our current times. The overall climate of the church was that of a loving God and how we could serve God. The Methodist church became my spiritual home for the next two years.

A year later, I met and married my wife. We were married in an Episcopal mission church in Farmville, where my parents lived. A mission church does not have a full-time pastor. For a time, my wife and I attended the Catholic church in our town of Tinyville. Then we learned of an Episcopal mission church in Smallville that met twice a month. The Episcopal mission became our spiritual home for several years until the part-time pastor decided 100 miles was too far to drive twice a month. After that, we attended the Catholic church.

We lived in Tinyville for four and half years. The politics of a tiny town in the after-effects of La Raza Unida suggested it was time to pull up stakes and move to Big City.

After moving to Big City, we attended Episcopal, Catholic, Methodist, and Baptist churches. We were on a search for a comfortable spiritual home. My wife most closely identified as Catholic, and I was okay with most any Christian church. I always felt a personal closeness with Jesus and the gospel, so the building where mass or service was held didn’t matter to me much. I suspect I’d feel comfortable in a Jewish service knowing that their faith is old testament.

Our moving around through various churches of different denominations has led me to these observations.

I found the Episcopal and Methodist churches to focus on the teachings of Jesus and the gospel lessons to instruct us how to serve others and love one another. We should treat others well out of respect and love for God. God will look after us as a parent and forgive us when we stumble.

I found the Baptist church to focus on negative behaviors. If you don’t behave, you’ll go to Hell.

I found the Catholic churches focus on the concept that we are all sinners and should feel guilty, guilty, and more guilty. However, we can repent and be saved.

Over the last 50 years, I’ve had the opportunity to hear what people say and see what people do. I have observed a big disconnect between what people believe about themselves and what they do. I find it highly annoying that some people will preach how they strive to follow Christ’s teachings but have no tolerance for others. I think the classic statement of tolerance by Jesus is best shared by John 8:7 “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.” (BibleRef.com)

My response to my daughter is this. My faith is between God, Jesus, and me. I have nothing to prove to you or any other mortal. If you wish to judge me, then consider me by my actions.

I’ve heard many folks say they are searching for God’s purpose for them. It has taken me many years to figure out and accept God’s purpose for me. My holy mission is to care for my family, friends, and others. It only took me 60 years to see what was right in front of me; Matthew 7:12.

Disclosure: This story has been edited by Grammarly.com

Copyright 2022 Harold Zeitung All Rights Reserved

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